15 January 2012


The yoga studio floor chills.
Above, squirrels clatter on the roof.
I pull blankets over me
their scratchy yarns itch my neck.
Minutes pass, the plaintive wailing of the flute,
the whale sounds irritate,
my belly has no room
for my breath,
But I breathe, breathe,
anyway, find the rhythm,
and the cold, the animals,
the music disappear.


1 comment:

  1. I should try this, and make the cold and animals in my house disappear.

    These small stones of yours are beautiful.


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