Dharma Punx

In the garden
the chill of August arrives
after the fever of summer
put us all into the sleepy haze
of forgetting the sinew and bone
of winter's stark mornings
where sea ice creeps onto shore
and builds castles
with the frosty tongue
of solstice.

Golden globes of tomatoes are popped
into my mouth for dinner.
Green beans are tucked into the front
of my daring black tee shirt
that reads
"Dharma Punx"
and makes me feel stronger

for meditating
on beginnings
and endings of breath

and these thoughts
at the seams long days
running into long nights
and the sculpted arms
and smooth lines of legs
that will pose prettily
and stretch
to do all they can
to finally make me whole.