By Dalton Day

God is found napping in a tree & some folks folks find this disrespectful. I am brushing my teeth when I hear this on television & you are pouring dog food in the dog bowl. We run down to the tree in question so we can see God with our own eyes. God is wearing a dress the color of coral. God is being freckled in the afternoon sun. The folks who find this disrespectful are standing beneath the tree & discussing the best course of action. Somebody wants to yell until God wakes up. Somebody else wants to cut down the tree God is napping in. What they don’t realize is, while they were outside talking, all of their homes have caught fire. Had they been inside, they probably would have died. Had they been inside, they probably could have stopped it. You hold my hand. I watch the small hairs of your head tingle in the breeze. Our dog falls asleep at our feet, and dreams about a field so large, that she’d never see the end of it.

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Dalton Day is scared & an editor for FreezeRay Poetry. His poems have appeared in Heavy Feather Review, The Good Men Project, and Hypothetical, among others. He is the author of the collection Supernova Factory, released by On the Cusp Press. He can be found at myshoesuntied.tumblr.com, and on Twitter @lilghosthands.

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