You can rhapsodize about the sun

and the moon, the earth and sky,

wind and rain, trees and leaves,

make love in a taxi, eat a salami sandwich,

scratch somebody’s back, search for fossils,

pee in a cathedral, sleep in a cardboard box,

gather wild flowers, eat unleavened bread, sleep late,

ride a carousel, sing in the shower, count falling stars,

wear a Stetson, study Mein Kampf, chew on kohlrabi,

ride a surfboard, collect butterflies, smoke butts,

guzzle a muzzle, forage for wild strawberries,

learn French, memorize Nora’s monologue,

get gussied up to make someone pregnant,

deliver pizza, whittle a stick, say Kadish,

read Henry James, play a harmonica,

dogpaddle across the English Channel,

blow glass, shoe a horse, cane a chair,

meet the Pope, play Chopin, bake bread,

sleep in a museum, panhandle, blow bubbles,

find potatoes in a field, suck on pomegranate seeds,

play a hurdy gurdy, be nice to Native Americans,

hunt for golden chanterelles and walk across

Akashi Kaikyo, the longest bridge in the world,

in the company of life-long camaraderie.

But simply by paying attention to your breath,

you can just be where you are right now.