courtesy: middlewaysociety.org
He sat with his legs cris-crossed
Flesh hurting
From the ache of sitting
For so long on the uneven, bumpy surface
Of the verandah.
He was connected only
To the feeling of falling continuously
Within himself
Panic collapsing like lightning
Flickering idly across the
Expanse of the African tundra.
He could feel the pulse in his
Neck pound into his ears
More deafening
Than the sound of unannounced thunder
---
But you could never tell
As you crossed the street
Just in front
Of his small wooden
House
All they saw
Was Old Man Kane
In a meditative state
As was the norm before
beginning his morning yoga.
My Inspiration: Façades
© KohylahPiper 2016
