Some dreams take us into our deepest heart,
inside our childhood home,
inside a blood-filled vein, inside a stone.

And when we wake, every dream animal
has become part of us, those that raged,
and those that lapped our skin, calm as sunshine.

Who can understand the power of these dreams?
It’s hard to find a place for them in daily life,
where we rarely speak of what we fear, need, or love.                
                 
Our dead ancestors trust what is older than time,
and children and animals know
we are more than our words or faces.

Even small dreams take us somewhere.        
Where is mother’s purse?  What stranger has parked
in the driveway?  Watch out for the wolf!

Dreams know where to find us.  They creep into our mouths
as we sigh and snore.  They come from the rhythm of our breath,
a broken cup, a tree in the yard, a pin in its cushion.  

Our dreams were born with the big dream,
the day the stars and galaxies were born,
and nothing gave birth to everything.

Our dreams take us back where we belong,
for we’ve been gone a long time
from the place where we began.