Writing Practice Meditation
.

there are windows
I never dare to look
notebooks too hard to crack
the first words never right

eyes closed I sit and count
breathing softly in and out
coming back again
and back and back

I cannot see beyond
the splintered glass
— hit once head on —
a writer’s words
scattered far, aphasiac still

breathing in and out
I sit and count
coming back again
and back again and back

cherry blossoms float
soft petals velvet white
against a flashing neuron sky
and I remember not to name

to just breathe softly
in and out
coming back again
and back and back
.