World of Chakras

the grounded chakra
the strong stone step of granite
that marks the hill-climbing path home.
the second's flow into a pool
that brooks the new clear water's flow
beyond what eye can see.
the third's hot disc of sun
beams warmth on every strand of summer-brown grass
and gives its heat unceasing.
the fourth's a lattice,
greens and flecks of light and leaf
fill and flake the forest,
form the net where new life springs
and sing the fifth in winds that make the branches dance
and lift the wing, and fill the full-hearted sail
that crosses the world,
the sixth chakra's doing,
with words like these--and hands like yours
finding form
but for the seventh's sense
beyond all word
beneath all form
before all breath
as one

prana

as the ocean crests and falls
in soft tongues upon the sands
so the air i breath in courses through me
reaching to my very toes
and as, when it stops and turns, the ocean’s tide
turns back, revealing the wet shimmering sand,
so the breath flows out of me
and leaves me wet with its wonder
until
the tide shifts
and sand,
strong in its tiny grains,
flows as my body recesses like the waves,
reaching within me,
my liquid parting for its
sun-warmed strokes until
I crash upon it,
soaking its warmth in my water,
tasting its light in my very bubbles
till gravity pulls me into mysef again,
holding back
till can hold no longer, and plunge
to the air-lit sands
in never ending embrace,
so that i the sand
and i the water
both--in me and out me
and i
the knowing of
the changing,
the prana
of prana
breath

--JAH

listings are what

listings are what
we think
when we are thinking;
beings are what we
be
when we are being.

the peach I hold in my heart

the peach I hold in my heart
I hold in my heart
for my teacher
who placed it there
with gentle fingered touch
so much
its moist flesh
will hold my heart open
and searching

but when the day plays out
and I doubt there’s enough love
in this place, enough space
in this place, enough enough—
my heart shrinks up
I can feel the juice dribbling
and the soft flesh shmushed
hushed by the false sense of safety
in turning in
until
through dint of time and across it
she begins to place it there again
my friend
whole

receiving breath

receiving breath
all day long
never taking
just receiving
--like welfare for the dead

a top knot

a top knot
tends to send the light
up your spine and out your eyes
to mine.
a top knot
says “here is a yogi”
for all to see
and wonder at
--why a man, young and white
would take flight
from the chamber
that awaits him
to a top knot
that’s just not
what we expect,
but maybe
want more
than a hole in the head,
instead—a whole head.

when your touch

when your touch
echoes on my spine
and your hands send
the love of ultimateness
along the curves that creak,
the breath flows free
and joy dances
in your eyes,
and in mine.