A riff on Lucille Clifton’s poem, “my dream about god”

my dream about god

He is tired and dirty from working all week.
He is silent except for his steps.
when He enters His house
He ensures that every thing is in order

where He wants us to be while He is gone.
His silence swells into each restless room.
leathery tobacco incense reminds restraint
dads smoky distance.

and who do i dream i am
evading His indifference?

i am the timid boy who dreams to leave
singing, laughing, loafing.
when i whisper He exits the back door and
He returns in silence.

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