A Pill Called Serenity

May 6, 2016

Serenity At Grandpa's

I have found

the moment in flight
when breathing fails
and finding
there is no longer pursuit
and crumbling

the softness of low breath
and eyebrows
the feathery half-touch
of fingers too ‘fraid
to reach

the first sip in the morning
of coffee and frost
before the world wakes
and there is no sound
or movement

a monochrome sky
of close air
and body-warmth hovering
without breeze
or desire

a precious breast
rising with rest
and repose
as the room surrounding
spins with dreams
and peace

Forgiveness
absolution in repentance
final rest
from the rising dust
a washed spirit
confessed

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