Half of my dreams are soap bubble fallacies

I. My god breathes in the smoke of a thousand incense
And breathes out security
That mothers with cataract crowded eyes
And betel nut red tongue hastily collects
And stores in moth-eaten bamboo canisters.
In this hamlet,
Time is a solemn video playing at point two five speed
And inside that video,
fathers watch sons and daughters leave home
For neon cities.

II. Spring arrives flooding in sunbeams
Like a stuck skylight window finally broke open
While I watch the red of the rivers
And the blue of the hills blend to lend purples to a foxtail orchid.

On winters the north wind descends
dragging along a few faint stars
from the last blue hour and I serve her
A cold jar of homemade grief
-A tablespoon of make-believe,
a pinch of melancholy for the after taste.

III. Half of my dreams are soap bubble fallacies
But I can tell you,
God wears my grandma’s sandalwood for cologne
and watches over with a halo shaped looking glass
Someone said our hearts look like
throbbing helium balloons from above
When we die does it look like a carnival?
Hundreds of hearts let loose
Balloons soaring high, never crouching
Never returning home.