Mother with her paintbrush and me with my fever. There are no miracles. There are no miracles because of what miracle does to memory. When I fall on the ice, ache takes one of my hands as a shortcut. Never reach god.

At one time
I would scour the skies
looking for the moon, the stars
and some odd galaxy

But now, distant as I am
And wont to hide
I wonder if they scour the earth
And look for me

i dreamt of sunflowers in water
and endless hills; green, rolling
i dreamt of dolphins dancing in the waves

i dreamt of all-surrounding grasslands
and cloudless skies; clear, blue
i dreamt of goldfish leaping through the heavens

once nimble fingers
grasp at lithe reeds
as they slip and dance
in a breeze’s lullaby
ever present companions
as days turn into nights

to wake up
in agony because i was dreaming of you
and it didn't last longer
to smack into a pole
because their laugh sounded like yours
or on days like today
when pillows
feel like interlopers
where even in the shower
tears won't grace us with their presence
and
I can't even drink my scotch
because it reminds me of you