Dreamcoat

There is this man
who’s become the man in the moon to me.
He watches over me
while I’m sleeping,
and draws down all the dew.
He’s the stones in my river
that disturb and dapple me,
and he’s the silt shifting
beneath my flow.

He carries me
across the threshold of sorrow.
I worry I might break him
when I’m feeling heavy—
but he’s a DJ of gravity,
a mix-master of empathy
and I’m weightless as a rainbow
in his arms.

He carries all the seeds to me.
In my parched earth, he sees only gardens
and he knows how to summon the rain.
He builds walls of light around me
to keep out the foxes,
and lines them with ladders
made of newborn stars.

He is the king in my chess game
and Jacob finding me at the well.
He may be a sly devil
who wrestles with angels
but I know that he, too, can weep—

and while he sleeps tonight,
I am wide awake
spinning gold skeins
from my DNA chains,
and weaving them
into a cape
for him to wear.
I will clothe him in brilliance
like Jacob’s favorite child,
a Technicolor dreamcoat
worthy of his stealthy valor,
and I will sharpen his sword
on the hot stone of my heart.

I will carry all his secrets
clasped in my fist;
no one can pry it open
and nothing
can tear him apart from me.
He has unleashed my gift of prophecy
and I will build a world with his hands.

© Psyche Marks 2017