In the Spell

In the spell of sleep I learn to savor longing, or
maybe when I wake -- to dash the sweetest dream,
to find dark, real, outside of me, where
I offer God tears for a way back in.

I rose from a powerful dream.
Do not ask what it was about.

Would you believe that the curse feels
tender? That is, anyway, it's
guise in the daylight, its charm in
the woken wish to fall back in.

Would you ever think that you could fall
into it like I did, into the tumble of
a beauty-hum, into the smile you'd
tried to turn from,

Into the sofa, floors and walls,
a face, a kiss, a cure?

Would you believe that God had lips
or that a true Being would leave
you to your own laughter,
to your own life, to live awake
in disbelief, until you'd mastered yearning?