You Won’t Need to Read Us Then

We’ll start to breathe,
Not when you stop.
(Like Frank when he
Heard her sing, when

He learned she died.
Did breath stop? No,
Not then. He wrote
Us out and breathed.

When he stopped, that’s
When his poems stopped,
Too.) If we could,
We’d take breath now.

Would you let us?
Would it scare you
If words sighed songs,
Our songs, at you?