What is
Known
Slips
Through
Fingertips,
From ears,
From eyes,
From mouth
And nose,
And my
Mind
Reminds
And reminds
Again
Of her
Constructive
Tendencies.

This morning
I wandered
Through
Postures
Familiar
And true,
Seeing
Doing,
And knowing,
And being,
And the edges
Between them,
Until
I
Fell away
And there was only
The practice.

Between
Reaches
And twists,
I lay
My body
For a moment
Of rest
And my
Mind
Slips
Quietly
Away
To spaces
Where senses
Blend,
Where words
Tumble,
Where my body
Is left behind.
And I startle
When I wake
And wonder
What else
I don’t
Know
I need.

My feet
Planted,
Belly
Twisted,
My fingers
Reach
Past
What I can
Know
To what
I can
Create,
If first,
I make space.
And my fingers
And mind
Wonder
What that
Will be.

My feet
Planted,
Hips lined up
Just so,
Arms reaching,
I settle
Into stillness
And notice
The twist
Begin
In my breath
Before
My body
Joins.
I follow,
And belong.

I invite
My
Self
To still
And my mind
Gets busy,
Making,
And mending
And mapping,
and may-being,
While my body
And I
Watch
And acknowledge
Her
Courage
When she pauses
And sees.

For a moment
She is
And notices
The fun
That comes
With pretending
She is
Distinct
And truly
So,
So long
As she recalls
The pretense
And recognizes
Who writes
The role.
And in that moment,
She is love.