Rest

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.

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