Passing Through

A poem about childhood prescience

Photo by Kyle Nieber on Unsplash

When I was a child I could see the air.
Feel its pulse, and trace its curves.

As through a curtain parting, I passed,
held close within an invisible cloak.

Later I was made to understand
that air is not visible to the naked eye.

Before I knew it was impossible,
I saw the air, traced its curves.

I believe, someday, I will see it again.