Thursday, January 23, 2014


portraits of old,
the reclining flesh of women and men on lush oceans of velvet.
today, mother reclines with a ruby red cape about her shoulders
napping in her favorite chair with the newspaper fallen to the floor.
the six pound 3 legged dog creature sprawls in the sun by the door,
great swaths of sunlight through the glass and onto the oriental carpet.
I am vertical, but wistfully remember my morning recline
in the soft warm bed that moved me to hit snooze three times (a record).
my favorites: naps with dogs on the chilly back porch of my grandparents' house;
lazy afternoons in the arms of a lover;
cuddling up with my baby after her fill of mother's milk;
head bobbing to the beat of the train racing south along the coast while I dozed ever so lightly.
All of life's moments in repose throughout the ages,
we succumb to our sleep in fields,
on hammocks,
even the bloody trenches of our wars.
The world outside left behind while the life of the mind explodes,
or rests silently, waiting for the next waking dream.

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