Make me alive

If I can see my breath
in a solid cloud that dances
through a wall of cold,
Does that make me more alive?

If I get caught in
the most brute of rains,
hair sopping, pant lapping wet,
Does that make me more alive?

If I close my eyes
and open the doors that
allow music to infiltrate,
Does that make me more alive?

If my mind churns
thoughts of cement that
weigh me down in scrutiny,
Does that make me more alive?

If I see in
hues of
multiple saturations,
Does that make me more alive?

If rays of moon
creep through my
dusty blinds,
Does that make me more alive?

If a snowy flock
flies as one across
murky sky,
Does that make me more alive?

If I lose myself
and liquid sadness crawls
down cheekbone slopes,
collecting in pools
at my feet,
Does that make me more alive?