Yoga Morning

‟…the real meaning of Yoga—a deliverance

from contact with pain and sorrow.”

B.K.S. Iyengar

behind veiled eyes

in pose of the dead

she inhales quiet breaths

exhales childhood visions in

tides and waves, washing

fragmented shells onto a dreamy

beach of summers, a frame

house rapt by crystals bobbing

on ocean swells and sunbeams.

Mondays shine on ticklish

tiptoes to the attic, asking:

‟Will they be there?”

No, breathes a sigh to rumpled

sheets her parents left behind swallowed

in folds of longing for their return

child’s eternity released

in exhale, a Yogic passing.