You dreamed, continually, of water,
Of gulfs spreading out in darkness, of rain
Overflowing potted plants, a river
That for reasons you couldn’t quite explain
Had childhood at its source and emptied, too,
Muddled voices, a seascape—blue on blue
You half liked it there, but woke up thirsty,
Stunned by the loud yellow alarm of noon.
The sunlight blasting through the trellised creeper
Made shadows on the bare walls of your room
That were as real as vine, only darker,
As you lay wondering who would find you
With blood blooming on the wall behind you.
I have learned to camouflage myself in church,
Masking my body
With the body of a saint.