We’d breathed for near a thousand weeks
And still you taught us on your floor
The ways to do it right.
To listen when the body speaks.
What weight you held, what gifts you bore
Beneath your ceiling light.

We keep these lessons, decades since
You first affected all our spines
Our lungs, our hearts, our jaws.
So subtle are your fingerprints
Your teaching still describes, refines
Reminds us: Move, then pause.

I pray that you’re with Mara’s mind
The girl you nursed from birth to grave
Who walked as tall as you.  
Her energy and form aligned
You’re both the molecule and wave
Then sublimate as dew.