Morning on the Couch

the body becomes

a curlicue

afloat

in a sea of quiet

where I calmly

wander,

a vagrant

without walking

tucked within
a wonder where

I tarry, yet forget

to ponder, count
or strive,

and in this peculiar

emptiness everything's
at rest--

opening up
within

a fragrant

homelike
nowhere.

like a weed
after rainfall

or a toddler
at the breast.