I dreamed I was fixing a leak in the sky

It wasn’t raining, but the clouds were weeping — slow, thick droplets falling through the roof of the world. I stood on a ladder made of old window frames, patching holes with scraps of plywood and waxed linen. The master carpenter from my workshop was there, silent, handing me tools I didn’t recognize: a chisel that hummed, a plane that carved light instead of wood. When I asked why no one else saw the damage, he just looked up and said, 'Because they’ve stopped looking.' Woke up with dust in my mouth and the taste of rain on my tongue.