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
