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Stopping on a Quiet Empty Floor
By Don Iannone

Desert sand blows
across my soul,
It's painful,
but it wears away
the illusions,
and polishes the real me
embedded within the stone.
Timeless images
of places, faces, and events
stream through me,
The buffing cuts
across the many levels
of who I think I am,
I become the Grand Canyon
at sunset,
I overflow with feeling,
I'm blurred,
contorted,
suspended,
caught in a mysterious
karmic elevator.
It stops abruptly,
shaking the mask
lose from my face,
I get out--
on a quiet floor,
with lots of light,
It is an empty floor,
no furniture, people,
nothing to distract me,
Only a window
filled with warm sunlight,
For now,
this is where I need to be.

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