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after seven

on the seventh day as the flames of that first complete dawn began creeping across the calmed waters, god rested in their temple above lost eden vast jehova hovers dreaming dreams of gentle sunlight warming a peaceful ocean perfect rain feeding the chaotic glory of a garden in ecstacy dreams troubled by the unchecked thought that maybe it never really happened formless void lurking boiling, twisting, troubling whispering "i am all that was and all that ever will be" we are not of this dream but we are in it and it is in us when the sleeper rouses and shakes off the dream and all despair is forgotten will there be anything left of me