In the 113 degree yoga room
the animal bend of my body peers
through time until I see flashing swords
pointing the way to the tree of life, 
Eve slicing peaches for Rilke.
We cannot know. We love our voids.
I walk home, my hair and belly wet,
I see a not right man knit his arms
around a lamp post. I see a line of babies
tied to a rope marching into a park. I see
a giant dog taking a shit on a pizza sized
patch of grass while his sorority girl
in a pj set examines his straining.
I am reminded once again
our lives begin and end in bondage.