Present
This is the breath
I pull into my lungs,
the air cool in my mouth,
my chest expanding forward.
I close my eyes, let go color
and form, and in darkness
I feel my bellows empty.
These are my two feet.
Left foot. Right foot. The two
places I touch to the earth, two
points of contact, two upward
weights I lift and put in place.
I lean one way, then sway back.
I feel the weight straight
through me, and I kiss the ground
again and again to move.
These are my arms,
my back, my shoulders and calves,
the parts of me that spread
and stretch, as I twist my torso,
as I reach upward or
as I bend forward at the waist.
My skin tingles warm and
I push outward to my edges.
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