The look on your face

is one I have seen in my own mirror.

 

I know you didn't think

you would feel this tired at this age

but this is just a phase.

 

You’re in-between lives within this life.

 

As the old woman used to say out in Peyote Land:

'Right on time, deary. Right on time.'

 

For now,

in the place beyond words

just know:

breathing is enough.

 

The world falls away in silence.

 

Whoever is secure enough

to let you enter the quiet-dark without them

is your ally.

 

Whatever is left standing

after your simmering ‘death-sleep’

is faith-worthy.

 

In these times,

when even a simple day

can feel like a firing pin,

stretching corpse-like

upon the earth

is not leisure.

 

It is medicine.


(c) 2017 / Pure Land Poetry / Frank LaRue Owen / purelandpoetry.com

This poem will appear in the forthcoming September 2018 release of The School of Soft-Attention (now available for pre-order from Homebound Publications or Amazon.com

sound: Chronotope Project

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