When you were different
On the day you were made
Ideas pressed together
Into soft papered flesh
There you breathed
Though you had no lungs
Or air to do the breathing
And no exhale marked an end
Or marred the wholeness
Of perpetual inhalation
Gulping in raw connection
Like a black hole
Like a sponge
Like the first unblink of a newborn
When you were different
On that day, before you made
Your first exhalation.