Doing Yoga in the Dark

Doing yoga in the dark

long before sunrise,

I heard a noise

out in the street.

A wayward son comes home.

A car door opened, a muffled laugh,

a quiet female voice,”...tomorrow”,

a closed car door clunk, a departing car,

and then silence for a moment.

I heard the grind of garage door spring

and the creak of back door screen.

I heard the quiet surreptitious trek

through kitchen, hall and past

my darkened room.

I then heard the door close to his own,

attaining sanctuary.

In his airy wake, as I practiced

my asanas, I caught the

sweet, subtle scent

of a memory,

long submerged,

of a similar trek

made many years ago.

Through the kitchen, hall and home

I had gone, desperate

to avoid discovery.

I believed that I was

bathed in an electric glowing

plasma of heat and sweat,

in short, an insidious

perfumery.

I was overwhelmed by my senses,

incapable of speech,

desperate to avoid encounter,

determined to attain

my own sanctuary.

Once gained, my thoughts then turned

on how to retain the vestiges of the night.

The smell of the clothes, the damp

of secret places and lingering perfumes

were savored with the still vivid

memories of moments of sensual unreality,

ecstatic good fortune and dreams

of what, “...tomorrow.” might bring.

All these memories past and

much more, came to me on the

tendrils of a scent,

while doing yoga in the dark.