They are said to be mystical
Dreams
Carried on the wind through ethos of time
Red clay churned through tired legs 

Connected to brick feet trudging in endless fields

Covered wisdom with colorful cotton head wraps 

Trapping the sweat from a blistering sun
Warding off the oppression with Santa Maria tongues
Dreams do come
Not a fly by night 
But early with the sunrise in broad daylight
Yawning upright spine
We have backbones that align us with truth
That we can too come into our own
I believe in dreams
Because my mama had one
And that dream is me 
My ancestors unspoken vision reborn

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