daymare, part ii.

the black dot

on the carpet

crawled towards

my chair,

tugging on my eye.

i was on a street

after twelve, 

and though

it was cold,

i was wearing 

much, much more.

what does God mean

when He tells us

to give, to love,

to forgive 

in multiples of 7?

i can struggle.

i can run

towards him,

and push, hurt,

then miraculously

hear it punch,

ringing

from my hand

to his chest

to his throat

out his mouth.

i can stand, warm

arms waiting,

stretched far part,

offering 

a return to home.

then say to him,

you don't have to.

and when he does,

i will say it more,

embrace him 

tightly, tightly,

and hope

he can give,

love, forgive

in multiples of 7.

he doesn't have to.