This holy exhaustion a sabbath to tend
a field just plowed with blades and tines that enter atrium and artery.
This holy entering upon which resistance is standard
and embrace is ambivalent in both desire and shame.
It seeks out pathways to enter and move toward springs of cool waters
This exhaustion profound and courageous to call out my name
not so familiar but ancient and free like branches
of willow a mother so fair she wraps without suffocating, rocks, and cradles
till rest is no longer imperative but mine.