Perfect Poem

With my latest cycle of work-sleep-work-sleep-work, this Maya Stein poem really "speaks" to me! I hope you'll feel the same!

always, at the end of every day

It comes to this: the fall to bed. Despite Herculean hopes to repair
the broken furniture, to birth works of unassailable beauty,
despite a heart with its tongue out, panting for love, or the hawk stare
we train on our most extravagant intentions. Despite the toothy
rigor of the bad habits we can’t break, and the soul-trials of discipline
which repeatedly establish our guilt. Despite these wayward exiles from joy,
we fall to a set of pillows, cotton sheets, a mattress, and make a cocoon
of our bodies. We won’t admit it, but we’re designed for rest, too, a buoy
to save us from the rough seas we insist on weathering. Look how little
it takes for that kind of surrender. How easy we can be, how gentle.