On the sill, in the light of a harvest moon
set a glass into which you pour clear water.
Write down your wishes and slip them under
your pillow. When you wake, drink the water.
Into a glass where you've poured clear water,
take care that no anxious thoughts fall.
When you wake and drink the water, feel
it course through you like a clean new river.
Take care of the first thoughts that arrive
—unbidden, yet aware of long-hidden joy.
The clear sound of a river rippling in you,
how its surface echoes and circles
unbidden, calling to dormant feelings.
Gather too herbacious and woody scents,
forest echoes, call of circling birds.
It's been so long since you touched
what was always soft, beneath the surface.
Write down wishes to slip into clouds.
Lay your head on the pillow, dream of water
on which the moon floats: an ocean inside you.
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
