Antidotes

The wasp of desire stings me,
sharp and deep as any craving
that always pilfers
the calm I cultivate
on the meditation pillow
at dawn.

I will wash my mind,
cleanse the tongue of my thoughts
that clatter on about antidotes
for the common cold.

Instead, let my breath take me
to bed where I will gentle my soul
with the ease of pillows
and heavy comforters.

Let me drift into that place where night
becomes day, death becomes life,
hate becomes love,
and nothing becomes everything.