The Quiet of Me

At the time of dreams,
I empty my mind,
Sweep it clean of the debris of the day,
Allow the stress to stream from my fingertips
And sink through the mattress --
Away,
Away
From my hunched shoulders
And embryonic crows feet.

I let the debris, the stress, the to-do lists
Fill my dustpan and pour out
Into the night, creating
stars outside the window
of my soul,
Separate,
Separate
From my whited canvas
And ujjayi breath.

I sit in an empty mind
Brilliant as the clouds
And spinning as a comet through space
The space filled with stars that were
Mine,
Mine
As a secret place in the forest
And an heirloom skeleton key.

Perhaps
Perhaps
This is the space where space
Meets soul and dreams
Trip lightly

Behind --
But away, separate.
Mine, perhaps.