In the Land of Dreams
I rule myself
as if I am three separate beings.
I give myself names: Danella,
I give us no restrictions
such as scale or time,
gravity or space.
I command us, in The Land of Dreams, “Make use
of Danella’s Tool Box full of multi-dimensional objects:
long-horned hammers, twelve-headed pliers.”
In Bichette’s Studio, I instruct us on how to use
whisper brushes, lacy colors,
and jelly-brain clay.
We frequent Tumah’s Kitchen
in order to taste herbs, Tumah herself invents,
out of our past mistakes.
When I struggle I hear, “Call upon the wind.
Ideas hide inside clouds.”
When I am perplexed, Bichette
suggests concrete images: birds,
Danella teaches The Language of Light-Beam-Sound
which we practice, over and over without complaint,
until clarity resonates.
Tumah pulls, fresh from The Sea of Creation,
herb encrusted waves saying. “Do not be afraid to ride them
over past ideologies and future sorrows.”
In moments of great jubilee, we teach each other
how to travel faster than light so as not to be seen
by those who are not yet ready to see us.
“I balk at duplicity of any kind,” I tell them.
“This is not duplicity,’ they assure me,
Of course sometimes I doubt—
the nature of our work, the specificity
of our calling, even what we might become
not quite human, not quite god.