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.