I do not see you, but the dreams I have.
I do not hear you, although I am interested.
My dreams are bigger than images can picture.

At the same time you tell me, what I said before.
Can’t complain about it, if no space to store,
all your stories, and all your thoughts,
all the circles, and all the crafts.

Do we want to listen? Do we want to tell?
Maybe complaining,
is the reason w’all fell, in the river of circling stories,
of what we already know, but cannot hold.
 
You know I’ve already told?
You’re sure I do not, but how to complain, when I
‘m dreaming away?

Do we listen, do we tell, do I want to understand?
If my dreams can bring me to places, I’ve never went,
before.
Time to listen, to explore.
Give me more.

C.