A dream dressed in the cloak of night
Crept up to me from the shadows of light
Behind the blanket of my eyelids
Appearing in rapid waltzings with my eyes
Moving in mystic-made motions
And this maiden, unaided, handed me
A microphone she said could send messages
To every cosmos micro to macro

"You can touch everything;"
she said
"You need to be their teacher."

So, I extended my arm but couldn't reach her.
Speaking to her with my eyes, her secrets unfolded
As if preaching to me and breaching the silence
That hanged between us like a well-loved martyr,
She reproached my hesitation and started my heart
Beating even harder, my eyes danced
Over gossamer floors, full-veined,
In the pain that they could not break this vision
Through to a conscious being standing constant
Like a concrete statue stolid and firm
For fathers and mothers, daughters and sons, and
For future figures ready to grasp the forms
These visions take on like lotuses on mirrored lakes
but standing on the surface doesn't take
Us deep enough.

"Am I deep enough?" I asked.

Now, lost in my dream's eyes
Brilliant black like still-water under a new moon.
And again, she reproached my thoughts that it was too soon.

For, "Tomorrow isn't soon enough,"
she said,
"Hold me close."
And, so I did.
"Even closer,"
she said,
"I'm not yet in your heart."

And she meant it
for me
to share with you.
This I realized, when I awoke
Gripping my heart like a microphone
That spoke to me like only visions can
Give voice to dreams dressed in night's cloak.
And so, still soaked in the waters
Of this baptism, I speak to you from dreams
The way I wish for them to teach you
What is most important
Is what I'm about to say...