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Asana, a poem by Roger Pfingston


    a posture in hatha yoga

Who can deny the stippled beauty

of spring trees budding green,

or fuller yet, summer’s flourish   

becoming the safe fires of autumn,

the cold bonfires of hills and forests,

mountainsides burning 

to a bareness of dance and pose,


the annual asana of leafless limbs

revealed thick and thin, multi-

angled, jutting out from trunks

barked according to species,                        

their skeletal reach a held 

grace deserving human pause. 


Roger Pfingston is the author of Something Iridescent, a collection of poetry and fiction, as well as five chapbooks, the most recent being What’s Given, available from Kattywompus Press. He has new poems in The American Journal of Poetry, I-70 Review, Innisfree Poetry Journal, 85 South, and Sheila-Na-Gig.