Seventh Night

I woke in the middle of seventh night (surely He must have slept too) to the gasp of a heart-dream, caught between now and when, here and just beyond. Before I can take a breath I am surprised by a sudden sucking out of all my secrets, leaving little or nothing to rely upon, to believe. Later it came, quietly enough, a milky opening of thought, hinting to me of my own history. A bright world unfolded - the white celestial surface of the universe, upon which I traced my strange ways, colored them the colors of my deepest emotions, my mind drifting toward the borders of something that came close to poetry - and art.