Think of yourself, Markitos …”
I was warmly tucked in bed
when Amida put these words
into my woolly head.

Help me, Master, help me!
I had murmured in distress,
wrestling with my pillow
in a bloody awful mess.

His answer reassured me.
I rolled over on my side,
surprise and satisfaction
impossible to hide.

“Think of myself …?” Permission
to snooze for another hour?
Bask in Love’s latent glory?
Surrender to Other Power?

At any rate, I am up now
and the autumn sky is blue.
Please read this little poem
if you’ve nothing else to do.