The middle of the night is mine.
The silence and the fuzzy air and my mind spins wherever it likes.
I go backwards and forwards in time.
I can trespass and visit all loves in my life.
All paths are broken open to investigate or reexamine.
I am the excavator, here I dig and digest, chisel and hammer.
All kinds of fossils and various stones and rock.
I chip away at the surface and depths of the giant quarry of my thoughts.
Occasionally the avalanches overtake me and I’m down for the count.
But most of the time it requires much more patience and delicacy -
peeling back the layers and allowing the air and light to stream in.
Sanding down to polish my collection of cares.
My pockets are full by the time I lay down my head –
with whole new points of view.
And the opalescent shells I stash in a bowl on the nightstand,
submerged in water, to catch the light and
outshine the ones I let go to the sea tomorrow.