David sits at the mouth of the cave 
where life has taken him 
far from the wife of his youth
away from friends and family
from Jonathan’s generosity and 
their shared meals and jokes

He breathes in javelins,
he breathes out henna blossoms
He breathes in giants
and breathes out a stream
He breathes in loneliness
and breathes out welcome

He closes his eyes and remembers 
his mother’s astonishment
at Samuel’s baffling words
The oil running down into 
his adolescent beard
the smell of it lingering for days

He breathes in jealousy
and breathes out delight
He breathes in nightmares
and breathes out stars
David fills his lungs with weariness
and blows rest into the air

He smiles at the memory 
of the way he exaggerated 
his encounter with a lion and a bear
and feels the shepherd’s sun
and smells the earthy wool of sheep 
He remembers the smooth of stones

He inhales hatred
and exhales forgiveness
Takes in misunderstanding
and gives back an open ear
Breathes in the Dead Sea
and blows out living water full of fish

He imagines Michal laughing
her eyes glistening like a river
then he remembers her tears
as she lowered him out the window
the press of her forehead to his
the scent of her kiss

He breathes in the sides of the cave
and breathes out mercy
Inhales the mad scrabble of self-protection
and exhales fresh baked shewbread
He breathes in eighty-five dead priests
and breathes out resurrection

His lungs fill with God’s air
and he thinks of the young men
who have joined him in the wilderness
the outcasts, the lonely, the despised
He knows their hope in him
is bigger than his experience

He takes one tiny breath
a mere sip of contracted air
and breathes out galaxies,
suns, moons, vineyards, waterfalls,
leaping ibex and hope, two hundred cakes of figs,
laughter, infinity, God