Rest

 Savoring sweet silence in the morning,

 snuggling into the depths of pillows.

My weight shifts in search of continuing


my drowsiness. This tousled mane billows


in careless comfort; arms tuck themselves closely.


Legs twist and tangle sheets, then repose


to feel the warmth of sleepy


feet contrast insulated cocoon against the calming 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 my foes


of worry and anxiety that want to pound


down the door of my inner sanctuary; my body knows,


this form of worship, even when my mind forgets


that rest is my duty. My skins and bones


dutifully fall short of my demands and in turn my soul lets


false expectations be humbled. My 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. I mimic His movement and worship His ways in my rest.




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