Sun rises in the east; sky glints awake.
Morning jungle is haunting and speechless—
suspended in greens and tendrils of mist.
Sun salutations. Slow. Silent.
Spiked karsts, looking close enough to touch,
rise out of the fog—(Urdhva hastasana/upward
salute)— remembering ancient paths of
vapored gods and gossamer spirits.
(Uttanasana/standing forward bend)—
Dirty fingers touch red Vietnamese earth—
(Lunge)—soil salted with blood
from yesterday’s killing combat.
My body topples downward: bone-weary,
downward twisting, mindfully embracing death.
Stopping the monkey-mind chatter:
(Urdhva mukha svanasana/cobra)—
silently hiss the illusions away,
fang the mad delusions——
(Adho mukha svanasana/downward-facing-dog)—
Then (Lunge) again, then (Uttanasana/
standing forward bend) again,
then (Urdhva hastasana/upward salute) again,
then (Tadasana/mountain pose) again.
I pick up my rifle and start the day.
I walk to the South China Sea, strip naked
and swim away.
Copyright Tim Bagwell