If you take a hike from the mountaintop
and follow the spiraling mist downhill
you’ll come across an ancient watering hole
where the magical yogis appear.
They live among the tall bulbous mushrooms
that surround the clear pristine waters.
Sun glistening off their ancient faces,
prism light bouncing off flowers and stones.
This is the home of the magical yogis
where they can be seen doing slow vinyasa,
gracefully moving bodies, hearts to the sky
bellies undulating, firing up in pranayama.
Slender acrobatic female yogis,
wiry white-bearded yogis
doing backbends and cartwheels
Magical yogis are the ghosts of yogis past
coming out when the wistful spirit moves them,
magical, mystical Kundalini yogis
showing bystanders their cosmic elasticity
and vanishing before their eyes.
More poems like this in my chapbook of poetry, Magical Yogis. Click the link to Magical Yogis at the top of my home page to make the purchase.
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