Yoga Poetry - The Slant of Everything
Always just to your right, an angle at sunset
or slashing down from the pilot light of the clouds,
the slant of everything. Sometimes, no danger,
just heat lightning and crickets to echo the humidity.
Sometimes everything lifted on one sudden breeze,
surprisingly cold as it slants through the summer
opening between day and night. The golden west
calls past the horizon ahead. The shimmering east
loses its heat and stillness. The moment transparent,
the air thin so that what you know and don’t know,
those you’ve lost and those you’ve yet to love,
converges at one point just over your view of
the western-most cottonwood trip, tilting plans
or wishes, the world always two directions at once.
