Quiet Period

There is no spring without winter, no thaw without a freeze.

Photo by H. Jahangiri (Author)

I have not vanished, nor been “disappeared.”
Buried, briefly; blanketed in the warm earth,
I am not dead. I have dreamed of dead things;
I am not one of them. They sustain me,
Push me, whispering, “Rise. Awake.”
Sunlight touches, warms me, draws me up,
Stretching. Languorous.