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.
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