Today I practiced
All
The most Important
Details.
I breathed,
And I felt
Myself
Breathing.
I listened,
And I heard
Myself
Living.
And I planted my feet,
And I reached
Way past
Where I usually
Stop.
And later,
In his eyes,
I saw what
I practiced for.

I woke
Hesitant
To do so,
Not quite ready
For the next
To be now.
Yet
So it was,
(And so I woke)
And so it kept
Being.
Now.
And now.
And now.
And now.
And then,
In a moment,
Still and shadowed,
I caught up.
And woke again.

When the time
Arrived,
I didn’t.
I made an appearance -
A quick Hello -
Then scampered off
To solve Problems,
To anticipate Issues,
To recall Details
My mind provided
For careful
(And Urgent!)
Examination.
My body stayed,
Working
Excuses into
Polite Conversation.
Just in case.
And in the end,
It left alone.

Today
That space
I seek
And find
Was slippery
And sloped.
I found myself,
Over
And over,
Sliding forward
Into
Tomorrow,
Into
Next month,
Into
And Then
Into
What If
And
One Day.
But
When I let go
I found,
At the bottom,
The sought.

The rhythm comes
Easily tonight,
With a day’s-worth
Of doings
And thinkings
And feelings
Looking to settle.
And the breath
Shares the beat
With the body
On repeat -
Pulling,
Folding,
Melting,
Breathing.
I pull.
I fold.
I melt.
And breathe.
And breathe.
And breathe...
I’m all colored bits
Bound in wax paper
When your voice
Whisks me back -
“Baby?”

I found
My mat,
Today,
Squeezed
Between
Housework
And workwork
In a space
Too small
And too quick
To expect
The twists
And bridges
And wheels
That unfolded there.
I smiled,
At the end,
Folding forward
In thanks
For the unexpected
That shows up
In the in-betweens.

Wandering,
Ragged,
And worn,
I stumble on
To my mat.
And reaching
Past its
Rubber edges
I gather
The pieces
Of me
Strewn about -
Knees and elbows,
Tips and toes,
A bit of flesh,
An ***** or two -
Each finding
Its place
So I can find mine
Before sunrise.

Some days
(Especially those that echo with
“Move,” and
“Hurry,” and
“Do, do, do... but don’t!...”)
Those days
I may just sit,
And breathe,
And come back to sitting
And breathing
And if it takes
Every moment
Of my practice
To arrive,
Still,
I find myself there.

And in the morning
I roll out
My old mat.
And on it
I gather
My stray
Yearnings
Concerns
Memories
Regrets
Hopes
Et cetera,
Making room
For them to thrash
And reach
And tumble about
Without taking me with them.