Rest

Unhurried;

no pace, all space
—place
unflurried.

Moon arose,
intending to strike a pose,
instead, smiled into tired eyes,
with a long, lingering embrace.

Time chooses to slow apace,
an act of accommodation laws may belie.

Weary eyes close,
folding the soul slowly inward,
past the silent steps of sleep,
toward a farther vale of stillness,
the involution of consciousness,
beyond and Beyond Within,
until there is no farther to go,
but there nevertheless is,
for is Is, as it would be,
will Be forever.

Within the self-womb of this soft spiral,
Mind’s eye can close,
to dream tomorrow into being.

© 2010 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen