The pure clarity of certain dreams, how they drive us across night’s dark distances, change fury into feathers, the unbloomed into overbrimming wonder.
Myrrh, melody, wings, waterwheels.
Those dreams carousel and uncrush, motor and unmurder.
They crystallize doubt into diamond, leave our fingerprints on the wind as we drift down highways of after-midnight sleep.
With full-throttled optimism, those dreams incense and oracle, chorus and love-luster.
They usher us through even the most unspeakable nights, guide us to the city limits of waking,
leave us dazzled by early-morning storms of first light.