I fall
Back upon
My seat,
From feet,
Having
Risen,
And reached,
Twisted,
And folded,
And held
And held
And held
Still,
Still drawing
Air
In
And out.
And I lay
This body
And its
Echoes
Of our dance
Together
Down
One bit
At a time,
As my breath
Slows my beat
And my skin
Goes cold.
And I let
Myself
Be
And be
Bound
By
What I can
Feel
Inside,
Settling
One bit
At a time,
Letting
Right now
Be enough.

I feel
The world
Move
Around
Me,
Lain
Still and quiet,
And watch
The urges,
The questions,
The answers,
Rise
And fall
Away.
And I
Breathe,
And feel
The world
Move the
Most quiet,
Most still
Parts of me,
And the sound
Of “still”
Becomes “skull,”
And the sound
Of “skull”
Becomes its
Image,
And my mind
Settles
Buzzing
Blue wings
Just above
The left
Temple,
Before
I smile
And wiggle
Fingers
While
The chimes
Bring me back.

I follow
The dark
In my head,
To familiar
Edges
I know
And know
Don’t
Have
What is
Promised.
And I
Lift
My chin
To look
Beyond
Where light
Falls
And bounces
And suddenly
The light
Splits
And I remember
My way
Back.

I notice,
Suddenly,
A path
Between
Now
And
Then,
Between
Here
And
There
Between
I
And
Thou.
And I
Recognize
All spaces,
Then,
As paths.

My limbs
Folded
Beneath,
I bend,
Descend,
Bring the eye
Between
To ground
Below
To ground
Me.
And I notice,
I bring
Emily
To rest
Here
Sometimes,
In the pose
Of a child
Where the world
Goes
Still.

I glide
Between
Arms
And
Push heart
Before
Crown
And smile
As love
Clothed
As worry
As panic
As spite
Insists
Something
Wrong
Must be
Right
Or made
Right
For I am.

I approached
My Self
With kindness
This morning,
Preparing
The space
To support
And to stretch,
To tear
So to mend.
I received
My Self
With kindness
This morning,
And then
We
Received
You.

I breathe,
And notice
Their shades
There
With me,
The older
And the younger,
Quietly
Yearning
To be
Received.
My mind
Pins
Them there,
In respective
Corners,
Puzzles
To be sorted
And compiled,
Until my
Heart does
What my mind
Cannot.
Then we breathe
And we settle.

The mind collects moments
bad ones and weepy ones
moments to spark fires
and ignite engines
moments to roast the heart upon a spit
to watch the ****** sizzling juices of love
drip down and burn off into smoke
the mind is a storehouse
though vast isn’t spacious
its compartments crammed
full to popping
under the strain
of all the moments in time it collects
to make the body recall
and you gawk at the wreckage
in wondrous amazement

moments in bubbles
floating past on repeat
mind digs in the toy chest
throwing up dreams
more moments of nothing
to hold you away from me
two nations at war for my soul
and all three are me
what mind fudgery
and horrific intent
the whole point is you
just you, nothing else
think what that reality means
whatever you like
life isn’t a playbook of rules
some other person can write
real life is lived
and what can that mean?
other than whatever life looks like
when you’re living through me

each time you can’t see the forest in the leaves
the moments you seem to pull back out of me
are only a specter of what isn’t true
only a reminder to remember your Truth
and turn once again to the Self that is real
and is one with the whole of all life that is living
can you gain joy from rehearsing old stories?
of worries and woes and doubtful discoveries
of fake images and faulty dreamscapes
then go on, by all means, let mind keep collecting
and storing away
for some other fake day
you can’t really be living
if you keep letting mind
give you moments to see
instead of real life
living in your True Self
and you truly seeing

A silent shriek,
morning hues of red and orange glitter through the pines.
Shadows form across the bedroom floor.

His vocal chords strain to be heard
above the laughter of the lilies.
Thrusting to and fro in a synchronized stance
they’d been practicing since the first of May.

An ominous cloud crosses over the heat source,
calling into question the events of the day.
Rays or rain?
A quarter, spinning and twisting in slow motion,
heads or tails?
The stakes are high.

Mr. Anthony, my neighbor of two decades,
rounds the corner of Dibbens Street.
Completing his morning trek pass the Weeping Willows,
he pauses to look in my window.
Pauses.
Does he see? Can he possibly know?

Heads or tails?
And for today, the decision is made for me.
I decide to stand.
To repeat it all over again, tomorrow.