carelessly, perfectly

the way he lies there
on the floor

exploring, experimenting, extending
carelessly, perfectly

no effort
full consciousness

that's how i do the yoga now

there are those
who practice in extremis
daily marathons
designed to right the wrongs
and perfect the imperfections,
flog the flaws that will not flow away

my eyes roll in ecstasy
as i receive a phone call
from st. francis
(of assissi)
he has reached me in the cafe
where i sit, a bowl of caffe latte
warming my hands,
a croissant buttering me up
for the long winter nights ahead

go, be with your boys,
he tells me,
laugh, play, sing
sink into the hot sand
and soak up the sun

there is nothing else for you to do

The Prayer of Saint Francis
"O Lord, make me an instrument of Thy Peace!
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is discord, harmony;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light, and
Where there is sorrow, joy.
Oh Divine Master, grant that I may not
so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand; to be loved
as to love; for it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life."