The Sea Of Sleep

Night has already arrived,

Light thinning,

Softening at the edges,

As if the day has begun to forget itself.

What you carried today doesn't need explaining,

Or sorting,

Or holding together,

It has already started to loosen,

To fall back into quieter places.

Breath comes and goes without being called,

A small rhythm older than thought,

Like water finding its level,

Like the tide drawing away from the shore.

There are moments today you noticed,

And moments you didn't,

Both belong,

Both are already being gathered.

Gratitude doesn't arrive loudly,

It settles,

Like dust in still air,

Like warmth lingering in a room after the light is gone.

Perhaps it rests in the ordinary places,

In the breath that carried you here,

In the body that stayed,

Even when it was tired,

In the quiet effort no one else saw.

Eyelids grow heavy when they're ready,

The body remembers how to sleep,

Long before the mind agrees.

Thoughts drift,

Like leaves on slow water,

Some sink,

Some float,

Some move on without you noticing.

No need to gather them,

They know where the sea is,

Somewhere,

The world grows dimmer,

Windows hold less reflection,

Rooms soften,

Time stretches,

Thins,

Slips its grip.

If gratitude is here,

Let it be simple,

For the warmth of the dark,

For the turning of the earth,

For the way the day has already released you.

And if gratitude feels distant,

That's fine too,

Night doesn't ask for anything in return,

The day sets itself down,

Grain by grain,

What remains is gentle,

What remains is enough,

Beyond thought,

Beyond effort,

The sea of sleep opens wide,

Quiet,

A place that doesn't need you to arrive whole.

Sleep comes the way dusk does,

Without announcement,

Without instruction,

You don't need to answer