Peace in Stratford

In Stratford,

where the city is two streets that I have known before,

and the bed is a cloud of feathers and white,

there is permission to rest.

It is good to release,

as if collapsing into an embrace,

to offer tension and weight

as both proof of need and thanks for arms.

And so I practice laying like a child

or a cat.

From the window, a breeze strokes my skin

purr purr purr.