every day i awake a new adam
the dream and the hand of God
having labored an eternal hour long
upon my unswept wilderness.
i lay my body in a grave of sand
let my stormworn soul settle still.
then he comes, traces in the dust
ciphers of mercy i strain to understand.
why do they lie behind my memory
once morning beams light my eyes?
maybe a secret name to be given,
or a someday body to be risen,
will hold the imprint of very good.