She won’t roll away & not watch me.
Y’see, I won’t seem to take,
When I dream (or I wake).
to take another breath before
The scene fades, before
lights go up
then down to more of a zoom.
She waits in our bedroom for me to resume.
We went to go to a yoga class.
Where a barefooted, hairpleated group leader;
beautiful, and calmer than a
merciful last coma,
She insisted that our deep breath is
the gist of all of it (within, & out).
We rearrange the short & tall of it.
The Gist to change the depth, see,
of our sea of possibility.
When we inhale
we rememorize our own gods.
We exhale our hell. barefoot. on a mat.
Whew. To all that.
When I get to go to the Gulf of Mexico
I’ll try out into the drink, 1st thing.
I’ll try not to think when I try to let go
& sink when I deadman’s float all day,
into what I think of as a spiritual drift, in a way.
I’ll hold onto my breath,