Roy Herndon Smith
He covered me. He blotted out the light.
An angel, God, or man, I do not know.
He entered me. He cleaved me in the night.
I was dreaming. I was shining so bright.
He woke me in the black, the void below.
He covered me. He blotted out the light.
He said, “Don’t fear me.” I could not say, “No.”
He broke on me, a wave of flesh and might.
He entered me. He cleaved me in the night.
Under his weight, I splayed with pain and fright.
He split me as a butcher slits a doe.
He covered me. He blotted out the light.
In sleep, I fly away. In dreams, I fight.
He shatters sleep. He makes my dreams my foe.
He enters me. He cleaves me in the night.
In dreams, he falls on me from heaven’s height.
He makes of me an endless waste of woe.
He overshadows me. He blots out light.
He enters me. He cleaves me in the night.
dust 