First Draft: Given

Here's another yoga poem. I haven't done yoga alone, in a natural setting, in a long time, and I was astonished by the fine details I became aware of when my mind was quiet and meditative.

Given
May 29, 2011

I remove shoes, socks,
step gingerly onto
clover-strewn grass.
My thirsty soles drink.

I stand in tadasana,
shoulder blades back,
palms at my heart,
begin the sun salute.

I have no grips or blocks.
To preserve my wrists,
I perform downward dog
on my knuckles, awkwardly.

Looking down into the clover,
I spy something rare.
I choose to ignore it,
move into upward dog.

Shifting stance, spreading feet,
I do triangle, warrior two,
warrior one, side-angle pose,
then let my head dangle, rest.

And there's another,
right between my palms,
three fat teardrops clustered
around a smaller fourth.

How can I refuse a gift?
I pick it and tuck it
behind my right ear,
beneath the arm of my glasses.

After fierce pose and tree pose,
another downward dog
reveals two more to me,
perfectly proportioned.

These, I tuck behind my left ear.
I settle, cross-legged,
stare out at the grass,
let go of my mind.

A speck falls to earth: insect?
Then another, and another.
I am watching the birth of rain,
feel it dance upon my skin.

When I can no longer see
just one drop at a time,
I begin to stir, slowly,
returning to my mind.

I look down, and there,
at the cross of my ankles,
a fourth four-leaf clover,
fourth stanza, fourth line.

I give this, and the first,
to a friend, woken by rain,
to give to his lover's daughters,
when they return from their hike.

We gather our picnic blankets,
baskets and half-eaten sandwiches,
and bring them to shelter
beneath a play structure.

Minutes later, our families
emerge from the woods,
drenched, dismayed, and delighted,
and wanting their towels.

Each of my daughters
receives their gift with wonder.
The memory of raindrops
I keep for myself.

Note: After posting this, I realized that, quite by accident, everything had fallen into four-line stanzas except the third stanza. So I added two lines after the first two and broke it into two stanzas. By another happy coincidence, this makes the poem exactly sixteen (four x four) stanzas. Technically, I suppose this is now a second draft, but it seems silly to repost it so soon after the initial posting.