When I remember my mindfulness,
I breathe up the energy of the earth
Like a farmer drawing water from a well,
Its texture is dark and warm and calm.
And I also breathe in the energy of
Grand Central Station as I walk
East along 43rd Street from Fifth Avenue,
Its texture is bold and strong and calm.
Earth, how seamlessly you sprawl upward,
Expanding your crossbeams of support
Into our human structures, how fluidly
You claim our bodies as your own.
In this way the rubble of Grand Central
Mirrors my own death, the massive fallen
Columns slowly soften, eventually decay,
Like the musculature around my spine.