I’m taking a hatha yoga class where the instructor encourages us to journal after each pose. I was hot, sweaty, and sprawled on the gym floor when I came face to face with an expired insect and was inspired to scrawl the following poem in my notebook ….
On the floor in yoga class—
a dead fly in permanent sivasana*,
nevermore to buzz another “ohm”.
*sivasana translates as “corpse pose”