The Cot

Nothing to do but drowse and dream,
when sunlight slants through windows
and the house holds its breath.

You trust the world completely,
gentle beast of earth and hearth.

What is it about your stillness
that makes me pause?
You’ve found the secret:
the holiness of rest,
the revolution of surrender.

Tell me, soft prophet,
what god speaks in your dreams?
What wild wisdom runs
beneath that maroon velvet?

I want to learn
how to give myself to the day
as fully as you do,
how to make an altar
of any quiet corner,
how to believe
I belong exactly here.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​