Here in the dreamtime, inspiration can be found
anytime, anywhere — in the visible or invisible,
in certain words or the space between words,
the space between worlds, even between atoms.
Perhaps when you are lightly sleeping in your chair,
you might suddenly sense a presence of someone
quietly looking in on you, carefully making sure
that you are still breathing.
You’ve been dreaming, and you want to remember
to write it down as soon as you awaken,
to submit your detailed report to the gallery,
but the narrative has now been interrupted.
Then again, behind certain trees in the forest
you may intuit some sort of spectral vibration,
something not quite seen — is it even really there?
Perhaps it’s just the innocent ghost of former trees —
a subtle remnant of their poignant lingering love
of existence — they once reached up to the sky!
Now they phase and shimmer just out of sight,
gathered in a conspiracy of arboreal silence,
like observers in a trial who are not allowed to speak.
Still, they glance back and forth in a kind of hushed knowing,
passing a collective judgment even before the verdict is announced.
What must they think of us, who wander around breathlessly
in their midst, pointing our magic cameras here and there
while squinting into the near distance, as if something
sacred and profound is just about to be revealed?