we climb the continual

we are each born into this world with a dream.

when we first arrive, we know it to our core.


as time—and we—unfold, we begin to forget;

it burrows back down into our recesses.


sometimes small glimpses will come to the

surface, if we allow space: a painted picture, a


sculpted pot, a sleeping story. unmet dreams

follow us en masse down dark side streets,


find us in all-night conversations,

meet us under a portal of stars.


we climb the continual spiral—

toward voice, birth, source, love.
































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