Poem: Listening to Longing

If there is anything I have learned
from years of practice
it is that longing
offers us a roadmap
back home.
There is no too late.
There is now.
This morning,
I stay under the covers
and offer my prayers.
I stand at the window
with my hand against my heart
and watch a lingering pink stripe
of cloud-shrouded sunrise.
I kneel and press my hands
to the cold floor.
I light a candle in my tiny cauldron.
I make my tea
and sit on the yoga mat,
watching the steam rise
as I sing my homecoming song,
low and wavery
while everyone else still sleeps.
I remember that my promise
is to be in devotion,
not to be perfect.
My ritual today
is to forgive myself
and to begin again
with what I have.