Hesychia

and come to rest not in struggle's evasion
not in some sense of duty or disregard
not ever as escape to lands seen only inward
not to stay, to saturate in drowning sorrow's plagues

but come to rest here even as everything else still happens
to rest in pain, hate, suffering, judgment, angst, torpor
and joy, and clean water to bathe in, in wings wrapped out
in red berries by a rainsoaked trail, mist on the lake,
    the sun absent and present, moon full moon bright sun
    moon sun gray light

to sun like noon even cloud arid desert dry ice
in wings alight obscure veiled brilliant gleam
fold of ear canal into labyrinth void red loon's eye
emerge chipmunk den summer cave cedar stripling moss pine shout

to cave of caves the land being the land
duress spent tented at treeline's edges, peering
to silence interrupted unvoiced articulate speech of doves
run through still to where stillness can be silent, unanswered

and those pure narratives of self reflecting self detach
and drift away into no need to know if they self-exist
those sunlit fields of words deep into necessary twilight
and self comes to rest in silence as deep as mountain root
    and world spine and snow-scraped waste
    and long days of nothing much

intrusive between these poles of rabbit and god and sacrifice
into in out of out between every point of sapphire outcrop
in presence of time becoming timeless each night
inner absence make sky into stone into seal door

door of worlds opens out silver blue gold black
frame of entry make heart to stone to prayer
circles enscribed in air over stone spiral sun dagger
star of reclamation invitation moon risen to sun scribe