Sight fishing lessons
The first thing to learn was forgetting well enough to dream a boat to help with crossing the night, its busy port thick with interdimensional commerce. The next was how to watch the anchor, watch the ropes, keep a pen and a lighthouse nearby to allow for return and remembrance.
From a book of days
The truest words were best saved for the dark because sunup had a way of making all that magic scatter back to business everyone what do you want for lunch and time to buy milk again and when exactly are you going to fit that in on top of everything else in the litany of needs churning on the cycle of these faces until the suns plunged again to be sewn into the dreams of other days by the sons at the shore, ever open-mouthed for the reaping.
Beyond words, in dreamland.
In one dream, I am warmly welcomed by a sizable group of friendly people. Various sounds and gestures indicate that I am being invited to introduce myself to the assembled. An expectant hush. My turn. It does not occur to me to use any language I know, since none of these are like what I have been hearing. So instead of words, I stand there waving, opening my face wide, making certain gestures of love and gratitude before I bow slightly to indicate that I have finished my introduction. I am received with warm murmurs and a few confused nods. Only later do I think, I wish I had said something.
