Trade the day for an empty mind:
no bills, no work, no things
you should have said.
Sleep like a fog slowly rising
over the tree-line,
a gray gauze covering
limbs, softening the branches
of Oak, pinion, juniper and pine.
See the faint sketch of a small
sea town, mushroom-colored
houses and red tin roofs, watch
the steeple of a church
spear through layers of vapor;
know the ocean is close by.
Let the mist settle in your bones
and the logs of the body
will float away –
you are everywhere
covering distant countries
you cannot name, spreading across fields
and city streets
where someone has risen early
to bake bread.