H for guest, for hydrogen, for daughter, for a line of ants advancing until they become a single body. H for a hollow in which everything fits because the contours are always open to possibility. Borrowing the voice of the air, the poem takes on a new form: “Breath / living body / alive in the mouth / of the sky / speaks / who speaks?” With the language of the living breath we inhabit, Peñalosa explores that indecipherable question—who speaks?—and invites us to look through the open vault that contains us in its silent breath.