One November, when
I needed them most,
all of my words
bowed out. No way
to explain, no language
to make sense of
our surreal new reality;
leaving me with a body
waking in the predawn
light to lift weights and
sweat, guided by Mother
Moon to run and run
on soggy trails through
a dying landscape, and
yoga -- hoping to twist
the knots out of my
stomach and dislodge
the despair settling into
my lower right hip.
Am I preparing
for battle?
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