Yoga means yoke, to connect as a bridge connects disconnected land
between spirit and body because the brain pushes pain aside
like a fascist on a propaganda-inspired deleting spree.
Meanwhile, your body harbors agony: organs, muscles,
vessels become burial plots, graves trapping trauma,
grasping a ripped photo, a dropped glass.
Invisibly fragile passion evaporates into air after
final words are spoken, but the body holds onto lost pieces,
even as a home you shared with a man you loved disappears
into your rearview mirror as you drive away.   



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