Towards Stillness

Asleep on your pillow, noses close. I keep
my breathing slow. Move not a muscle lest I
break the spell that holds. All night, the effort I make

tends towards stillness, calms the folds and bent
muscle-blankets, elbow uncrinkled
only if I know this: You, holy
gift, won’t go, won’t leave, won’t shift.

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A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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