Six hours.
The balm of rest
A salve on my brittle, tired mind.
A lullaby patters on my window
Tiny dancers relay
Spring’s promises in Morse Code.
Rest opens up
This day to me
Hope nestled in the hope of spring.
I bring my A Game into the room. Into the dark I bring my quiet. No talking: A new language to memorize, practice, repeat. Conversation is my native tongue. Silence, my least natural impulse. Barbaric
Your urine is my urine now. Odor that no longer offends Becomes my odor. We are one. Your holy shit is my sacred duty Evidence of the food I prepare with devotion Feed to you with care. Your body, for
