The Great Rest – a poem by R. Fisher
it comes quietly, the veil of white rain to still the Earth’s tremble,
the sting of ice below my soles bared to frost’s numbing breath–
i left my name, my baggage, my will in the city to become like a flower,
to bow my head and tuck myself ‘neath Winter’s bough–
here i may go quietly, unclaimed by medicines or doctors or suffocating life,
so i’ll wait for the final deep breath and the exhale–
the first thaw may bathe my bones in Spring, settled in soil by the Great Rest,
i’ll find my own nature spotless, simple, newborn again–