Acquiescence by Jeffrey E. Tracey
The cascade into a pool of dark ink.
The shadow in the well.
Sightless. Stillness. Noiseless.
The "I am" in its deepest sleep.
The shrugging off illumination.
Minus the tresspasding of time.
Such is nirvana
And all the while, deep within.
Restoration is burning the midnight oil.
May you be free from birth.