Ujjayi Jet Stream

It rises weightlessly, hovers, and disappears.

She sits 
calmly
in the studio,
legs crossed,
eyes closed,
palms and fingers 
upward on her knees,
open to receive.

She sits
quietly,
the silence 
absorbing her
ujjayi breath,
holding her 
body and mind,
peaceful
and at rest.

She feels it
before she hears it,
a swift push of air,
a tiny jet stream 
swooshing by 
the tip of her nose. 

She sees it
as soon as she 
opens her eyes,
a tiny bird hovering
at the window,
staring out,
pining
for the other side.

She stares at it,
its wings
an incandescent blur,
its beak squeaking,
occasionally,
as it scrapes lightly 
against the glass.

She stands
and approaches
the window
and cups her hands.
She extends her palms, 
fingers and arms, 
open to receive 
and breathes.

She stays   
and doesn’t move,
takes a deep breath 
and quietly watches
as the bird 
acquiesces.

It eases itself
into her
open palms,
calms its wings,
and settles itself
as she opens
the studio door
with her bare foot.

She stands
with open palms,
arms outstretched 
to the other side.

The hummingbird
twists its head, 
looks at her, 
rises weightlessly,
hovers, 
and disappears 
like a tiny jet
soaring off.

She lets
the door close, 
turns and returns 
to her mat,
sits calmly
in the silence,
legs crossed,
eyes closed,
palms and fingers 
upward on her knees,
open to receive.