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.

I approach
Her
Gently,
My body,
Sheepish
With a dash
Of hope.
And she
Turns
And opens
And welcomes
Me back
Into my skin
To settle,
To rest,
To find holds
And pulls
For moving
And for staying.
And we
Create
The rhythm
We follow,
And we
Create
The light
We have seen.
And I am
Grateful
That
She is
Gracious
When we rest
As she will
When I
Can no longer
Be.

I sat
Today
In stillness
And watched
Her construct
Riddles
And mazes
And puzzles
For me
To try
To solve.
And when
I noticed
Myself
Trying,
I pulled
My lungs
Open
To make
Room
For less
Than trying
And more
Than solving,
And touched
The answer,
The center,
The vision
Within,
And beyond
The problem.
And she
Looked
Into
My eyes
And said,
“And this is how we practice.”
And I
Handed
Her
The prize
And said,
“And this is why we practice.”

As I move
Through
Postures
Finding
Stillness
Then flow,
You
Dance
Around corners
Of my mind
And my mat
Sometimes
Clumsy  
And small,
Sometimes
Grown and
Full of grace.
And I
Imagine
To your face,
With tears
Streaking mine,
When once more
You are
Just
Out of reach.

I breathe
Without
Being here
Sometimes,
My body
Moving on
To the next
Right
Thing
Without my
Permission
Or control.
And then
I recognize
My shoulders,
Or my big toe,
Or my weight
In the world,
And tug back
On that which
Let’s me call it
Mine.

I settle
And listen
And my path
Reveals
Itself
One reach
One twist
One bend
At a time
Between
The edges
Of my mat.
And I long
To remember
This ease
When I stow
My mat
And settle into
My life.