In silence 
it slips across my worries 
A quiet balm, unexpected 
This is not that shroud of death 
That we all imagine 
This is not the seeping 
arthritic pain of aging hands
But a peaceful 
much appreciated 
surprise of release

The ecstasy, inexplicable 
the joy of being alive

Waking, some time later 
This poem was waiting 
unbidden 
Just sitting in my mind
Patiently expecting to be written 

October 19,2024 SGL Brunswick, ME