Savor sweet silence in the morning.

Snuggle into the depths of pillows.

Shift your weight in search of continuing

your drowsiness. Let your tousled mane billow

in careless comfort; tuck your arms closely.

Let your legs twist and tangle sheets, then repose

to feel the warmth of sleepy

cocoon against the cool of toes

drawing in outer coverings;

the stack of soft heaviness, the horizontal rows

of feathers and strings

multiplied. The rising and falling of ribs slows.

These coverings cause eyelids, too, to be weighted down.

Rest, a peaceful retaliation against foes

of worry and anxiety that want to pound

down the door of your inner sanctuary; our bodies know,

this form of worship, even when our minds forget

that rest is our duty. Skins and bones

dutifully fall short of our demands and in turn our souls let

false expectations be humbled. Our body receives loans

of life, from one recline to the next, from the giver of breath

that feeds the height of conscious activity, and the lows

of uncontrolled sleep. We mimic His movement and worship His ways in our rest.


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