Swift turn left, the pillow crushes
below your fitful move,
your eyes search the darkness,
restless, for something in the room.

You listen close for that small sound
that might reveal the step,
you wait in silence wondering
if time has ended yet.

Below you, at your feet,
the wall bears a simple drawing:
the shape of night and music
in peace without motion or purpose.

As breath moves ever on,
and life demands its substance,
you place yourself within that frame
and think back to moments shared

when you were full of hope and light,
on far and distant shores
surrounded by the scarlet glow
of soft solidarity.

Without a word, you feel yourself
accepting all that is;
those moments now remembered
have prepared you for all of this:

for meeting without argument
whatever now may come,
for holding with a smile
the reciprocal to the joy

as only fair repayment
for the wave that you felt then,
when everything within the world
was beautiful and calm

when every footstep that you took
had led you to the place
where you were surely meant to be,
below those pearly stars

and nothing more
could you bear to ask
from the balance of
all the world