A Place Where Angels Sing

Spiral inward slowly, gently,
Eyes closed, notice the
Soft brush of air 
On the skin 

Accompanied by a light and dizzy
Head as you move inward
Twisting, tightening, 
Drawing-in 

For this is the gathering of
Self into a soft and inter-
Twined skein, a whorl
Of sap and resin

Spiralling in turning curves toward
The quiet core - winding inward
Gently, allowing the soft
Darkness to flow 

Over your hands, leave behind the light 
And slowly swim below the noise
And din, let the waves slowly
Cradle you down and in

Threads tightening until you are
Curled as small as you will
Go, a bobbin of in-wound 
Being chambered within


Self curled like a shell. 
Sit pink and quiet, all 
Deftly twined in this
Tiny place of peace. 

If you sit so very still 
And hold your breath, 
You can hear the sighing of
Endless seas like the

Whirring of wings.  Shhh.
Be listening.  Can you
Hear them, the angels? 
The angels are singing.

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