If the walls of your mind are beset
with the milling about of many-legged creatures
trying to crawl down corners that
keep unfolding away from them
If the floors of your mind don’t mind new feet
walking cautiously, toes tinglingly,
the earth underneath their soles
quietly taking their shape
If the skies of your mind are made of rain
that fall into still wells of meaning
because they need the churning of
fresh moving waters
If the winds of your mind are gentle
in which the smallest holds of thought
can frolic unswept
by the gathering storms of understanding
If the seas of your mind can imbibe
the many different sands
of the surrounding shore
without forgetting the taste of its own salt
If the forests of your mind have light enough
for the bold assemblings of truth
but also shadow enough
for the mirage making of fantasy
Then invite me at such time
that the breweries of your mind are open for drink.
