At the end of my days, when I lay me down—
Not to chase dreams, and no more counting sheep…
But when Savasana “gets real”: me, unwound
From this long insomnia to the Big Sleep.
When I close my eyes and connect the dots
Tracing the R, the I, especially the P—
In Pen—I’ll inhale like tomorrow’s not.
Holding it like a forget-me-NOT. Me.
Swirling that little word around my tongue—
Trying to discern the aftertaste. Mine.
Before I spit it out. Before my song’s sung.
When I ask, “What have I done?” One. Final. Time.
When my slobber hits the pillow—Most of
All—Let my answer be: I. Have. Done. LOVE