Poetry

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He dreams of me
and His dreams are wonderful.
In the night
In the dark of my heart
He dreams--

He moves upon the waters of my life
His Spirit stirs my soul
and emptiness is given shape
as light springs forth--

Creation rustles in the dry,
dead leaves of my past
Bringing forth something new,
something unexpected
like rain from clear skies--

His lips move, and wet greeness shoots up,
buds and blossoms in my being.
The dreamer awakes
and I gasp with delighted surprise
Realizing that the dreamer has turned
dream into daylight--
and the dream is of me.

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