There are processes
of settling down,
ways the jostled clutter finds
to re-collect,
regroup as like with like,
become contiguous,
ways the pieces
find their way
back to peace.

These I summon
at the end of this fractured day,
before the dream drift starts
(a way to smooth it in
and make it pleasant):
breath like tides
to comb the tangled webs,
deep drafts to let the scattered thoughts
find the restfulness
of their weight.
An end to the to do list,
a pause. Just listening . . .

©Wendy Mulhern
April 1, 2016