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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