Xanadu
 

My eyes creak open. Sweat-soaked, sitting stale The room is my own image, A tangled mass,  trash and scattered wrappers Trapped -- my stifling abode. A breeze occasionally passes  Welcome, the window wide Its perfection stands aside From this space where I abide. The wind is perfect.  Advancing forever forward, full Presence develops from absence, Pressure here, pressure there One day, bearing farewell It will decide  For me to join it on its ride Through its restless, wander