after you left

After you left, I fell back asleep. To the sound of rain on the metal roof, the infinite gray like predawn skies that stretch into the afternoon, the faded light through the green gauze curtains, the low window shaded in the raspberry canes. The whole world was singing me a lullaby- tap tap, pitter patter, sleep. And I dreamt the whole world in fast-forward, time lapse, everything lived and died all at once, just like Sean said it was- all of history, the present, and everything that was yet to be- all of it on the head of a pin. I really believe it now, I really believe it. I saw it from the plane leaving Alaska, the dark rock coast and the infinite black of space, and Rockwell Kent had made the sky. I wanted to get that sky tattooed on me, I took it to the shop in Portland where I’ve always gone with the flash on the walls that looks like flash but if you look closely, it’s actually beautiful art- but the man only shook his head, ran his finger over the sky, four inches square, said there were too many lines, that the stars were too small.

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