Unknowable motion

I breathe to slow the heart,
To feel,
Each.
Beat.
Part.
How long can I keep clinging to the art,
In acceptance of the fact,
That I am holding feeling, a part.
Solely to remain,
Intact.
I am rendered in a continuous arc,
Composed between palms extended,
And shoulders locked,
Eyes open,
Waiting on some unknowable motion.
Far from here,
Where every muscle screams,
Their tremors,
Witnesses of unending stresses,
I burn,
Not from pain,
It turns to mist in the falling rain.
I burn.
But not from strain,
As doubt holds no reign.
In the question of the fact,
That I burn to remain,
To remain,
Intact.
I am stood in the half light,
Between the full light and night,
Clinging to the art,
In this unbroken arc.
Eyes open,
Waiting on some unknowable,
Motion.