by Peter Gallaher
I dreamed, or did I dream.
“Come and sleep with me,” God said.
Lifting the covers of His bed
He beckoned.
I lay beside Him.
I lay over continents
Over fields of finest wheat.
I lay over the swelling sea.
Waves kissed the cupping shore.
God covered me with the sky.
Mystic constellations were nearby.
“Rest,” God said.
“Sleep,” God said,
And on His yielding breast pillowed my head.
