while asleep, I dreamed I was a god
(a new one
you haven’t heard of)
I spat out a world, and still wet,
sat it between my knees
created some trees, and
a few suns
I created eyebrows, and
I created that guy down the street
who takes old stamps and sticks them to cardboard
with little pins and always,
always looks back.

because I was a god
it only rained on Tuesdays
and I could cheat at cards
and I knew secret things
like how love tastes like tinfoil
like how the spaces in between words
hum, like lips
vibrating on a balloon.

one night, because I was a god
(and gods can do these things)
I wrapped fairy lights around the equator
big, looping, sparkling swirls of light
a winding trail; a beacon
leading to the sunrise

in my sleep, I dreamed I was a god
but awake again, bleary-eyed I am
pigeon-toed and awkward
and like every human who has ever been,
this heart will beat
and pump
and beat
until

I am no one at all
but I clutch my pen,
sit my world between my knees  
and draw in the twinkling lights on the horizon.