legs parallel as the lines of a crosswalk, arms a perpendicular “T” to my torso, aching as they stretch (or do they stretch and therefore ache?) Open-bodied stance releases all weight of this weary week. White-flagging my way to the floor a wide space spans my once-tight palms, now held by an invisible silken thread index to index. Sprung free from the web of close-in clamoring that’s cluttered my days, revelation arrives via the limbs. My body remembers a vast freedom, the lull and lilt of quiet, room to roam. Bones at rest, eyes shuttered, the inky view messaging my brain. Sometimes I don’t know what I don’t know, how tightly I’m wound until I’m undone. I want to live undone.