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.