No, not yet, move nothing until


  you have filled yourself with


        intention, or

your act will freeze, immutable, and


  your thought will have aborted


        into misshapen stumbling.

We stammer in the effort to speak, lurch


  out of a passion to walk, slump


        in lieu of sitting; yet,

within, awareness reaches toward


  an attainable state in which


        we seek to direct our selves

as a rider guides the most accomplished of


  horses, crupper gathering, hooves


        pattering, neck yearning toward

heaven, and the supple trunk


  conveys itself over the earth without


        anticipation or effort.

This is the ascent into the self,


  encountering possibility just as it


        flowers into the actual.

We attain fulfillment only if we carry


  the breath of the world


        without surrender


        or escape.