Sacred Holy Dream

Do you feel your head unspooling into the universe?

The ends of the string are fraying at the edges, 

irreparably stained with the stardust at the ends

 of the many worlds you stretch across.

My very favorite poem is an inarguably terrible one. I do not know its name and do not care to find out if it has a name.

The sun is pink, and the sky is green on the day that I am standing knee deep in perfectly still salt water. The tired marble floor of heaven is finally dissolving beneath my feet.