Sometimes
if
I believed in God
and
I woke up with pieces of a dream
spinning
like
tiny ballerinas
in
cold pink dawn
when aloneness makes a fist
if
I knew my hands were empty
if the room filled with violent little pills
and
I woke up plastic-sealed
like
a magazine
they
keep behind the counter
if
I woke up in pieces
if
I woke up alone
I’d
smile and close my eyes
sometimes
if
I believed in God.