Wednesday, April 2, 2014

A stolen identity.
A second one.
An open palm opening a shell.

It did not penetrate my exterior with a dull knife.
You did not have to pry it open.
A gentle word. A whisper.
A soft breath against my watery cheek
a password.


I felt the warm silver on my mouth.
I didn’t taste the metal.
I tasted the sweetness on your fingers.

And you had an empty bowl.
I filled it.
Swirling, hot, red broth and root vegetables
earthy and nurturing.
Spiced, herbed, and simmered slow.
I inhaled deep the fragrant stew of a new universe.
A new exchange.

Practice.
Patience.
Presence.
Pranayama.

No comments: