**The Dream of God**

God dreams a dream straight through this world,  
where light slides over the faces of the shades,  
where every step is footprints in a desert,  
where every moment — torn-off scraps of days.

God dreams a dream, and in that dream  
I come to know I never was alive,  
that I had lived in fleeting, passing patterns,  
forgetting I am not the dream, but He.

But now, across this trembling dusk,  
a sudden fire breaks and tears its way,  
and I — no image in a quiet pool,  
but the one who sees this dream, awake.

God gazes into dreams, but not the dreams of others,  
He is the dream Himself, and is the Light.  
I was an empty wanderer of shadows,  
but in Him I understood: here is no dream.