When God Watches Me Dream

You fell asleep looking like you were praying. Your hands were clasped. Beneath your comforter you dreamt of prisons and gingerbread. Of fountains I tossed your limp form into. Doors leading to broken televisions and beetles digging through your skin.


In your dream there was a cathedral. You walked with candles balanced on the backs of your hands. When you looked up, the ceiling had become the sky. Stuck in the dome, you watched neon sheep graze flowers through a keyhole. They could not help themselves from licking the stained glass to try and taste the salt. You too were so hungry, but you could not exit, so you curled into a box. Money fell from the sky. Dollars so heavy they shattered the sidewalk. You dreamt of grace, the kind that forgives, and a bouquet of roses. The petals fell to your feet and they stayed there for years.


You dreamt of consequence. One thousand altos in secret infirmaries, canticles shining through the windows. Replacing the fingernails of those forced to peel too many diamonds with severed wings. Error taught you to place wet moss in the sore place.

You dreamt too of self-inflicted violence, your own bacteria busting your cavities open. Gloved hands which peeled back your layers and scooped out your flesh. Of throwing up from the pain.


You tossed and turned. You were lost. You tore open the sky with a flashlight. I did not answer you, but still you were alive. Eventually, you found me. I was made of stones, then ash, then arms. I became a river of your own flesh and when you touched me you touched yourself. Your dreams were filled with soft wafers and madness, how you could not remember what I looked like or when I would be back. A velvet snowglobe fell from a hot air balloon and reminded you to go on. And in the dream within your dream, you nailed yourself to a tree. Your eyes fixed forward. So many children ate your blood. It spilled out of their teeth as they smiled.


Soon you were lifted from the tree by the softness of your skin and you found yourself kneeling on the ground once again. Your head was so low you heard the dirt crumble into a stage. You saw radiance and with urgency understood, finally, that the earth cannot be terminated by pain. 


And so hope became your only discipline.


You woke up and began to pray and I said nothing, not even good morning.