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I welcome the cold and focus
on projects in the shell, but soon enough I will long for the sun.
I sit at a shrine and focus on my capillaries.
Extend arms and open palms as wide as they will go.
Never lock joints, for there sensation is stifled.
Attempting to glean cellular awareness,
with some success sometimes. Awake to certain bodily truths.
What I'm after is the power to inspect my own fascia,
hold my blood under a microscope in my mind's eye. Already
I have begun to sense deeper than I ever suspected could be so.
Holding my arms extended, rounded, as a balm for
the time spent typing. Each finger lights up
as it connects to its equal and opposite.
As a child I developed the unfortunate habit of cracking
every joint I could manage. I found very many joints.
It was a matter of stress relief, of coping with anxiety.
Now I'm learning that each pop stifles inner connection.
Flexibility and smooth, soft motion, these are tools for healing.