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.