My poems have been running away 

Did you know that words have feet?

Like little sand fiddler crabs all my ideas retreat 

When it’s time to write, I don’t have much to say 

At least not much worth reading 

But maybe that’s not the point 

It’s like yoga and breathing 

I forget to breathe 

Yesterday, the instructor had to prop a pillow beneath me 

She said after class my breath looked shallow 

How many times do yoga instructors say to let it go? 

Eh, it seems I’d rather hold on 

Emotions and words on paper are not merely pawns 

But I can’t let hope – or fear – or desire stand in the way 

Exhaling deeply is putting words on the page 

Never mind my breath 

Or the words’ depth 

The point is to be splayed 

And to communicate 

It’s not all a competition or a power grab 

Oh look, a crab!