I sleep on white bed sheets
with the windows open
so the breeze can brush my face
and the rain can fall on my lips.
I sleep in the gray half-light that
washes the color from my walls.

My skin is bare, fingers tangled in
the blankets, hair drying in the
same air that dries the dew
off of the leaves.

Get drunk on dreams
crumple the sheets
ice packs and underwear
poetry, bracelets, books.

I sleep with tearstained cheeks
swollen eyes and a runny nose
and bite marks in my mouth.
I sleep with a heavy heart
and fingertips on fire.

Dizzy, fuzzy eyesight
and fantastic scenarios
played out like film in my head.

I sleep in the warmest
and coldest room of my house.
I sleep under quilts and blankets
curled up against the cold,
and I sleep naked
with the air warm against my skin.

I always sleep with a book
at my bedside
and the drapes opened
so I can see the stars.

I sleep through sunsets and sunrises
and lightning that cracks open the sky.
I sleep through delicate snowstorms
and hazy summer smoke.

I sleep by myself
and I seize the quiet
as a moment of my own,
not shared
not secret.

I sleep for life and rebirth
and tranquility,
for peace and second chances.
I sleep for mornings.

I do believe my days withing these
Concrete ashram walls are
Coming to an end.

It might be a slow ending, but
It'll be a good one.
It began the day I saw the

Beautiful truth behind the ugly
Mask of everyday insignificance.
Beauty and meaning;

Soft hand in a mild one.
Water strength.
Cement frailty.

Thoughts are like air; find their
Way from A to another
A.

Looking at my friend fitting
A door, cursing at the promise of
Adjustments,

Or enjoying the way the Project Manager
Leaves us never knowing whether
He's joking or not with a face

As cold as his project's foundations.
I fall in love with Life every day.
Even when I hate it.

I've learned that I never stop learning.
I'll be a slightly different man tomorrow,
Yet still myself.

Always still myself.
There is wisdom in flexibility; the
Holding on to nothing,

Even ones definition of oneself.
I was a construction worker.
Now, I'm a

Construction worker.
I take comfort in the fact
That the only comfort I'll

Ever really need, is the
One I give
Myself.

He dealt in tissue paper reality
Layered upon layers of issues
Of Nothing at heart

As empty inside as the wind
That blew his papers apart

He wore his emptiness like a badge
Futility was his halo
A cold empty glow of nothingness

And as his tongue wagged
The sounds were unintelligible
And when he stopped his eyes
Beamed with approval .

While I wondered . . . pondered
Without disapproval
Simply dazed . . . amused
Wishing I wasn't there