The air glides over your curves, in a steam of heaviness, cloaking you. Especially around the heart space.

 

You wonder if a heart can be cloaked.

 

A robin chirps for its mate from a distant rooftop. This air lightly translating the message. The punctuation of the call draws you back, into the weight of your heart.

Once you sat in a Buddhist mediation group with an ordained nun, Amita Ratna, leading the meditation.

 

“Let the white smoke wrap you with swirls of love. First your legs, then your torso, graduating to your head.”

 

The–now–body wrapping in the cloak of morning.

 

And a robins mate receiving and opening the swirling envelope of hearts.