Yoga Poetry
Do You Know Where You’re From?
Blue falling off its ledge
the expanse collapsing into
pale rain or nothing but sun.
Do you know where you’re from?
The sea-shaped gullies break or gap.
The herd lost in the woods that should
be in the field. The scalloped rises formed
by wind or its absence. Do you know where
the motion originates in a field of big bluestem,
the single point where the fire began?
All along the interstate belting the hills flat,
lined with trucks that read “Navajo,”
billboard promising comfort or salvation,
while the barest of cottonwoods crowds
the dead river’s old bank, your life originates
in the banks of underground river or fresh
dream you can only find through risk and
peripheral vision. All along the dark green
rows of corn or edging the rising thunderhead
in the deepest blue, your life begins
from it's it from in the first place.
Lie back right here, and watch the sky.
No matter what happens or doesn't,
each tilt of weather sings you home.
