Hot chamomile tea, sipped from rose colored porcelain cup
Quiets my nerves, ensuring a deep sleep.
Rain drops beat the windowpane like a steel drum.
Lighting cracks, slicing open my unconscious.
Departed souls influence without words,
Their presence feels like Florida air in August sun.
My Egyptian cotton sheets scented with Channel No. 5
Holds a treasure trove of dreams.
Woke up and found a poem on my pillow,
The color of lake mist rising.
Wrapped the poem around me like a thick down comforter,
Strengthening me for the daily race…