The Will

Something clicked
inside, the knife twisted all the way and pulled out,
let it spill,
let in the air
lying there in the open
with nothing above except everything like when
I was a child and
the ground felt familiar
and the stars were winking

a breath, one huge breath that could fill a room,
which it did
until someone opened a window
and it was over.

I didn't even realize until later.
And when the aftershocks beat at the walls,
when there was more to come,
I barely glanced up, just like the preachers wife
who looked through my tears when the plane was going down
and calmly said

"Everything is just as God has willed it."