Outside the press of your eyes
in a
weathered willow basket
my troubles leave their
weight
burdens not yours to carry.
A guest in your soul,
I’ll pause
my heart will still beat
to choose these words.
This, the greater freedom.
This choice the greater
truth
when in your home.
So since the warmth of
your hearth
is lit with your best wood
I’ll leave my private book
of nightmares outside
where the rain
can do them good
and be the worthy guest of
fire.