To harvest the root of fire,

you must pry back your eyelids,

and listen, as the wild cat does,

stomach growling.

You must walk backwards for a thousand miles,

until your boots break,

and your toes peek out like hatchling birds

begging for worms.

You must pull back the skin of water

and make, of it, a cloak.

You must forget yourself –

and make music

from old bones.

breathe

like you mean it

consider

the catch in your throat

the swell of

the abdomen, the na a sal

pa a SAGACHOO – – –

damn it.

you’ve sneezed. already.

consider

the… whistle, the er

snuffle, of

(allergies, you know)

focus

on the breath.

(your dog is whimpering outside;

the microwave hums)

inhale, a

sloww exhaalaation 1 2 3 4

(your mother is eating, chewing carrots

in the room next door –

what was that she told you,

about not smacking your lips?)