The cadence of a quiet, lonely breath
gives bower to the disenchanted dream.
As through a sluice comprised of shallow depth
unwinds the water, so does mental stream
constricted flow within unmingled air
refined and further fined by each exhale,
unknotting threads entwined, relaxed repair
of day-worn blemishes from harsh regale.
If listless may transfigure to repose,
and will enumerate from thought to deed,
then action needs no trigger but to close
out all distraction. Indolence recedes
ahead of purpose, and intent receives
its focus from the silent, rhythmic heave.