Slowly, I am awakened.
Not all at once -- no big ascending boom.
Insistent whispers, heavy-lidded,
pull me back.
Breath deepens. Feeling returns,
wordless, undeniable.
Here we are, awaiting nothing.
What would you have
that you don't have now.
It is written: The enlightened do their own laundry.
And so, awakened --
get up and make your bed.
Do it. Now.
A stormy host of harried dreams advance,
anxious to cloud your sky.
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