This night I was led to a heaven where
airwaves are transcending cherubs, even
extending their arms to capture my heed.
They carpet a brush with topaz and place
this in my sweaty palms. I am shaken
as the moisture trickles through the space of
my fingers; 'but paint,' they implore. Swift these
adorn my neck and kiss the top of my
lip. Yet, I am frightened; am hurling the
brush and writhing down a holy staircase
to escape the monsters—(monsters, are they?)
I squirm and topple down steps as they cry
out my name and bid to braid my hair. Their
highest has even tapped at my foot and
enticed my stay. So loud. I can't hear earth.

I plunge from the air and am caught in an
updraft. The soil is placed just beyond my
grasp. If only I bring myself a bit
closer—the dirt wails a finite 'touch me';
I reach.