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. 

VI

I have learned to camouflage myself in church,

Masking my body

With the body of a saint.