Dreams

Sometimes we look at the spread of the open sky in deep awe and wonder At times even daring to claim the sky, like caged birds, we weep and tweet. We look at the ocean, the screaming of the sea and the river between dark and bright. Where the dire silence of the river sits yawning. In our drizzling doubt we forget we too are rivers and, oceans that scream, seas that see, streams that scream. We murder our own dreams at the end of the twilight. We have, ourselves, killed not only ourselves but other selves. We weep, yet told, “weep not child.” Like anteaters that fight using their callouses, and not their claws and wits. We shrink and quake fearing evil dreams and nightmares. We ask: Who will plead with our ancestors to generously pour their wisdom? So we can know that it is not necessary to sniff the buttocks of a man who has just defecated. And so we can know that we are the seas, the streams and rivers that scream, elsewhere and everywhere.