It is alright
to admit you are running
on empty

It is alright
to want to take to your bed
for days
while the snow gathers
outside your window

To go into the space of dreams
drop into the underworld
where the soul reigns
amidst golden caves

The air is not what you are used to
your breath expanding and softening
like some ancient and quiet instrument
made as much for moving air
as for listening

It is alright
to visit this place
and meet yourself there

Then to walk out without notes
without predictions
or certainties

Nevertheless enriched
and the riches simply
the opening of your heart
to yourself