Dream of The Created World

Flashlights under the covers,
playing like cavers, diving
deep into giddy infancy.
Though a proud dream-stag
might poke you out of slumber,
drift, spelunker, underground lover--
begged blessings hover
like a funky patchwork raft
you're riding under. The light
and lethe comforter is the night--
the world turns in, turns to forgetting,
creeping easter, "Flashlights on!"
No hope in rising! Who craves and hunkers
down to wait? ... World turns,
God pulls the covers up.
You fight to not forget, while
revelers stall, stealing light
from above: stay sharp, heads up.
Each work of day rolls over,
above and of the surface,
and yet the earth careers to
other rhythms, finally cloaked
and orthodox ... asleep, unseen
where youth are left to rise,
and plunge towards the center,
under the covers, where motion
is never felt.