from a world that forgot to breathe

The karaoke stopped. A man with a moustache knew the engines. Perhaps what carries us is not always what occupies us.

I had disappeared into Mumbai. A cow stared. By morning, the cow had vanished. I was beginning to reappear.

She was ninety-seven when she climbed the spiral staircase to her first yoga class. She smiled through it. I never saw her again. But somehow I still can.

A damaged toe, four doctors, a pink scooter — and one afternoon in Copenhagen when I couldn’t remember what season it was.

Two students, lotus-shaped candles, passing trams — and a teacher trying very hard to look like one.