08 August 2014


Reading my darling poetry over her cup 
of 3:30 am tea served in bed isn’t subtly 
getting one’s own back, but I note that a 
meditation session precipitates; sooth to 
say a quiet invades - breathing slows as 
rhythmic regulation abates ‘uprightness’ 
into ‘lying down-ness’ and smoothly it is 
my in-the-face, go-back-to-sleep, hint 

Protestations are valueless ‘currency’ in 
situations where hard-won insight’s dint 
fails the test of primacy, she makes and 
breaks the ‘rules’ without conscience; it 
says I need be composed & compliant - 
or go somewhere else for such repose 

© 4 June 2014, I. D. Carswell