8) Yoga
Wolran Kim
Not becoming a thick meditation book
I turn a page of my stiff joints
My heart collides above the Cobra curves
A bird I swallowed one day may spring out
I reread the forgotten pain on a transparent chair
My hands and feet have never looked at each other
So they are estranged face to face
There is something that you can see only with your eyes closed
Mini Karma on my feet
Is afraid of every step carrying a fleshy past
You can see the same person differently, with the poses of dogs and cats
The straight road is seen after wrenching your limbs
On the surged sea
I become an island that never shakes, even without roots
Flowers blossom although the ship was never anchored
Flowers fall although the ship never sailed out
On the towering mountain
I become a tree that stands without roots
I plant a fistful of the sky, touched by the tree branch
In my toes like a petal
I plant a pant of breath high like a dream
Finally I put it down with tippy toes and plant it under my chin
On the land that laid like the inside of a coffin between broken breaths
The hidden wind has gone flat
There is sound that you can hear only in the silence
If my breath pants again after drinking the words
Under my gaze, without jeopardizing, just,
NAMASTE!