Until purity regains its footing
I keep my body immobile.
I want the stream to run clear
and if that’s not possible,
the opacities to be mere
insubstantial tricks of light,
or barring that, discolorations
of the stream itself, ever-flowing and untainted.
And when the dirt is ruffled from the bottom,
I want my body to become watery,
supple, still, until purity regains its footing.
That’s what this is – this bodily
immobility, sitting here quietly folded –
letting the stream of existence
pour unimpeded over whoever it is I am.
O child of God, to no longer know who you are
is a gift in kind from the great Unknowable.