Standing Mountain
from Shiva’s Dance, first published in The New Lyre
What would it take to be a standing mountain,
soft body centered over sentient feet,
inhale your arches, pelvic floor and heart
up through your crown, exhale your sacrum down?
What would it take to be a conscious mountain,
feet together, balanced, toes spread wide,
breath and spine aligned, as if along
a golden thread suspended from your crown?
What would it take to be a sparkling mountain,
glaciers trickling into ice green lakes,
cascades, ravines, rainbow glinted creeks—
an effervescent presence, grand, pristine?
A human mountain, one hundred billion nerve cells
all lit up, doing what it takes.
