|image from ashtangayogameditation.blogspot.com|
Yoga makes a mouth of it to share my truth.
Free as a baby’s imagination
Let its flexing tell my story without ink.
As reaching fingers in a sun salutation grab at air
Forming my intention.
My most back (bending) and forward (folding)
Negativity sweats out of my pores.
In Warrior I my thighs yawn widely the details.
Without practice, my tongue is still as a lost child in a great cave.
What really comes of a mouth that hangs open and shut
As a broken door on well-oiled hinges?
Ah, how the heart unfurls like secret flowers.
What passion it expels
As the body begins to feel wispy in a vinyasa ballet.
By savasana, there’s no need for verbal words.
The body has said it all.