I'm in that heavy room again,
The rain becomes something deep - profound,
Kilometers above pressing down and down...
Until the rumble is synonymous with air,

It becomes to me a heavy stillness,
It becomes to me as quiet chorus,
It becomes to me as toil of days and long spent hours,
It becomes to me a wettened stone,

The room three quarters lit,
Makes friendly company with air,
Onwards they tug the space without a care,
Until the dimming is synonymous with air,

It becomes to me a watching father,
It becomes to me as expectation of my own,
It becomes to me as cloudy reminiscence of this heavy room,
It becomes to me a passing place I care to be,

I care to be without the lightness every while,
I care to see the buckled genius in crouch,
I care to taste the fruits of work come sprout,
I care to know this heavy air and know its weight.

Rightly ordered,
And you snap everything back into place,
Molding and crafting your body,
Giving us a little more space,
And your breath flows in to open lungs.