posted by Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg on May 14, 2012 |
Half-Moon Alone in the bedroom or at the back of the large yoga class, against the wall or balanced alone in the shaking steadiness of this phase of the moon, I reach past the compressed sadnesses of one broken story or another, my arms, my legs spanning height and width, a new dream following the shining heart, lifted and leading. Past the night of staccato sleep, past the twisted arcs
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posted by Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg on April 2, 2012 |
Hold to the Center What shines here? The rain that falls from what’s lost but still searches for itself? The sleeping coyote in the den? The window shade half exhaled? The awning where ice melts? I walk into the outside, my long thought dissolved. Someone calls out, the hard bud on the tip of one branch stops moving. I can’t see the sun that knits all to earth’s center, but
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posted by Caryn Mirriam-Goldberg on February 8, 2012 |
Yoga for One The room widens, the floor unfurling all directions. The air quiets on her arms and face. She sits in the center of the mat, hands on knees, and breathes in the wide light of the early afternoon, the walls breathing with her. She bows and waits, listens to the tone that chimes in the clearing in the center of whoever she is. When she stands, the golden
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