There are depths in every Consciousness, from which we cannot rescue ourselves - to which none can go with us. - Emily Dickinson

AMPLE make this bed.
Make this bed with awe;
In it wait till judgment break
Excellent and fair.

Be its mattress straight,
Be its pillow round;
Let no sunrise’ yellow noise
Interrupt this ground.

I am out with lanterns, looking for myself.

It might be lonelier
Without the Loneliness — I'm so accustomed to my Fate — Perhaps the Other — Peace — Would interrupt the Dark — And crowd the little Room — Too scant — by Cubits — to contain
The Sacrament — of Him — I am not used to Hope — It might intrude upon — Its sweet parade — blaspheme the place — Ordained to Suffering — It might be easier
To fail — with Land in Sight — Than gain — My Blue Peninsula — To perish — of Delight — F535 (1863) J405