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.