knots
My skin smells of grapeseed oil.
My left arm, a hardened mass.
Her sure hands glide along it;
she breathes in sharpquiet; notes
the tension in my right leg as
my body tries to find balance.
My right foot is turning inward.
Soon, perhaps, I’ll be walking in
circles like Marvin in the swamp.
Twelve hundred hours on a cushion,
following my breath: I’m still in knots.
Slowly untying, relaxing, loosening,
falling back into this newly shaped life.
/ / /
Jason Crane
14 January 2015
State College PA
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