I know of the man,

“He’s going to kill that kid.”

Then he shakes the baby to death.
Which really makes him mad.

He grips the baby by the wrist and snaps its body back and forth through the air.

I observe the child’s face is too small and pinched for the size of the head, which is, in turn, too big for the body.

Too heavy for the neck, now broken.
Too large for the limbs, long and thin, loose in death.

And then the woman, yelling at the man. Angry, because now they have a body to hide.
The man is crying. Wretched with sorrow for himself.

Awake, I ask myself,

“How could you let that happen? Why did you not intervene?”

But in the dream, I knew why:

Because that baby was better off dead.

Still, awake - I could not forgive myself. Until I understood.

I’d asked God how His day was -
And He’d answered.

And I felt a rush of Love and pity for the Lord.
All alone in the dark of the human heart.

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