Yawning

Stifling a yawn,

I felt my body reset itself, cat-like,
to normal flexibilities, albeit aging,
and stretch to realign with the more fluid now.

Perhaps the yawn does not prefigure boredom,
but rather points toward a yearning:
for movement,
for light and lightness,
for that which will not settle,
but take up any stray parths
and rise up in winding spirals
of exploratory spirit
of muses and musing,
and discovery.

Whereas boredom cannot reach beyond itself,
light crosses borders,
gathers creative dust,
and sings the planets and stars to life.

Let my yawn be bent on travel,
calling forth invisible wings
to open out and,
stretching fluidly,
to carry me upward and
liberate me radially,
from my inner world
to all outer worlds.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Awareness

Deep in walk;
deep in thought.

Then wind speaks, and
hair strays into her eyes,
the ends pricking the soft, fleshly orbs.

Her attention is pulled backward,
then forward,
to Now,
but is she now focused?

[Mind does not respond to the mindless happening;
Heart does not respond to the act not originating in (com)passion;
only the body seems engaged in this wordless conversation
'twixt a neutrally aware self and environs.]

By way of response,
an arm moves upward,
fingers flex casually,
and the errant strands are flicked away,
expected by the hostess to find rest
in some more appropriate way,
or at least a way less irritating,
one that will not obscure vision, cause pain.

"Time for a haircut," she thinks, dismissively.

The wind has been slighted, however,
and the opportunity to unravel
a coded message from the Kosmos has passed.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen