 
 
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)