Galatea’s Dream

You call that first darkness sleep.

Is that the name for the nothing from which you pulled me?

***

You call that first vision a dream and I want no part of it.

I am fully at its mercy in the dark,

As I am at your mercy in the day.

***

When I am awake, I learn words. I name things. I grow ideas.

In my dreaming nothing, the things I name come to life.

I possess infinite largess,

And unto my created world, I give bountifully.

***

I caress the marble in your studio.

And in the dreaming nothing, I become the sculptor.

And discover another name,

One I carry with me when the dreaming nothing becomes waking.

***

I find you. I look upon your face.

Your real face.

I, forged of marble.

You but from clay,

Breakable bones held together by a frayed mortal thread

Covered in crepe-paper skin,

Sun-starved arms, moon-bleached shoulders, thighs as brittle as sand,

And mawkish lips that taste of blue-flavored madness.

***

In the dreaming nothing,

I cast and carve and chisel and coerce.

You remain where I command you,

As I coax forth your breath.

You will pose on the glacial marble

According to my will.

And when I am finished, I will step down from the uneven altar

Made more treacherous with the promise of falling

And call out the name I have christened myself.

You will not wake.

From this place, you will not wake.

Sera Taino (6/5/2020)

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