Some days
I have
To shut
My eyes
And listen
To find
My way
Into my skin.
Body still,
I fill my lungs
And lay
Breath
Down
With intention
Crumb
By
Crumb.
And for a moment,
I am full.

I pause
The grinding
Mindwork
To find
My pieces
Scrambled and
Scattered
About.
A hope here.
A doubt there.
A glimpse of a memory
That always leaves me
Guilty.
I pause.
And breathe
Space
Between the gears.
I pause
And stretch
Time
Between the beats.
And with spacetime
Set aside,
My pieces slip into place.

My body
Arrives,
Still
Hot and
Driving
The beat
Of my run.
And the Practice
It finds there
Is more rest
Than rhythm
More stillness
Than shifts.
And I breathe
Into body
Over and over
As my mind
Insists
We move on.

On this day
I slipped
Into my practice
Upon waking
Like
Easing
Into your bed
After too much
Living
Leaves us
Weak.
Necessary
And
Indulgent
Somehow
To leave be
The befores
And the laters
And come to rest
In the now.

Some days,
I feel lonely
In the dark,
In the quiet,
Seeking
To create
A moment
Or two
Of just being
By redoing
And redoing
With Intention.
Other days,
Though -
Other days,
Everyone
I’ve ever loved
Or hurt
Or been seen by
Shows up
In the alleys
Between
Being
And doing
And I
Recognize
Us.

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.