To stop digging deep, to stop. All magic and truth napping in a corner while what I've done neither clears the way nor impedes; now content on ebbing thought, soft-stretched in a warm bed, morning and clean sheets like a park before birds, fog-muted city to cool clear sunlight -- quiet, quiet loved by quiet, mountains and memory books in silent rooms, all-beautiful, pillow under my head, rest for my back, soft hands, yes.
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G Beckman 