I sit
And breathe
With the owl
Song
And wish
For leaves
In thousands,
On the ends
Of arms
Spread,
Strong
And steady,
And long
For bits
To whisper
And shiver
With the wind,
A rustling
Swell
Behind owl song.
And then
I remember
To forget
Myself
As I sing
And rustle
And breathe
My way
To the next
Moment
We are creating.

She slinks
Between feet
Curling one
Last
Bit
Of tail
Around
Wrist
Nuzzling
Nose
To shoulder
And scampering
Past
When
I reach
To engage,
To satisfy.
Tempting
And fleeing,
On
To the next.
And he
Is patient
And slow
And strong
When
It’s time,
Waiting
And ready
For my return.

I gather
My parts
Here
For practice.
And,
Knowing,
I declare, and
I ask,
And suppose,
There
And
Find
It hard
To hear
The yearnings
Of flesh
And bone
Now
From within
My constructions
Of then.
And then,
Knowing
Goes on
Without
Me,
And I practice.

Feet planted,
I sweep
The world
Around me  
With arms
And wrap
Them
One around
One,
As hips
Call for space
And I extend
And I fold
And I breathe
And I reach
And I settle
Before sweeping
Back
To the start,
To listen
For
What
Comes
Next.

As I
Ease into
Pose
Of a corpse
I wonder
At the edges
We construct
Between us,
How real
The chasm
Seems
When I
Succumb
To the urge
To set
Both form
And beat.

I’m angry.
So
I find
My seat,
I find
My feet,
I find
My reach,
And I
Find
The
Beat
That
Slows
The world
And me
So I
Can see.
And breathe...

Yesterday
I heard
Her
Long
For the courage
To be still,
To release
The urge
To act
And receive
Opportunities
To grow.
Today
I set
The nest,
A courageous
Mix
Of firm
And cozy,
And draped
Her spine,
And hips,
And shoulders
In stillness,
To release
The burden
Of action,
And let
Gravity
Split
What growth
Will mend.