The inkwell black of night
holds its soft glove of evening
up against the window

as you open it
a gentle cool curls in around ones neck
and on ones face
soothing the wrinkles of day away
stilling the heart beat
silencing the mind
and plunges  your whole being
into its embracing void

the breath becomes slower
and sweet air fills the lungs
you sigh
and stand quite still
time stands still with you
it is your friend
your ally
your closest understanding

your present reason for existence
where more or less doesn't exist
nor up and down or sideways
all is whole
contained
yet there is no container
no form to this whole
it just is

Margaret Ann Waddicor 23rd March 2016