she Saturday early rises,
water crossing all on her own,
upon the all-white Menantic ferry,
departing from her small isle of paradise,
for it is the sabbath,
she must worship
with David,
her Yogi *** rabbi

muscles stretched and strained,
forgotten was the
degree of difficulty,
attending to this yogi master's instruction,
the hardship of obtaining
body and mind,
spiritual synchronization

90 minutes of serious mantras
serially and seriously chanted,
is tiring in ways I ken from
the safety of my observation deck
on the counter couch facing

she keeps me company,
after breakfast,
amidst the white lace curtains
sunroom surrounding the home on the bay

succumbing to mine own chant,
for with right hand cunning,
I drug here with
violin concertos in minor chords,
one after another, pill she ingests

before me now sleeps, she,
her Lulu arms and hands enwrap
her deep-sleep-bound eyes-in-her-head,
fading in and out of semi-consciousness

all-the-while
I compose
poem~mantras of my own,
which she cannot hear
so far away she has flown

my mantras of love and affection,
however do not dissipate,
my chants forever repeating,
for when she awakens,
she will read this and many others,
in her email inbox

**so who is the yogi master now?