This Moment, and: Yogic Rubric

This Moment

Certain music compounds my sadness
For instance the bluegrass voice of Alison Krauss
counterpoints a catechism
for my dead and dying.
But in class yogi said
everything's okay
breathe
this moment
right now,
a precious thing.

I try to focus;
dread sabotages.

Parkinson's takes you,
freezes your glance and smile.
I am worn as thin
as your mottled skin.

You aren't my mother,
but you may be Jesus

I can't leave you
in your excrement
any more than I can chase
a stray dog from my door.

When I won't go,
you say this to me

the woman in my mirror
finds new lines
around her mouth and eyes
she keeps saying
amazons don't sing the blues
they cut off a breast
and tighten the bow for battle
until it cries like a mandolin.

Yogic Rubric

A seed shoots from the heart:
stretches breastbone and ribs,

releases a closed throat,
slackens jaws,

loosens tongue
from roof of mouth,

takes a breath through nose,
draws shut eyelids,

splits the hemispheres of brain,
turns right, spreads its leaves

in the region of no thoughts,
and roots a space to grow.