Today I wear the round 
beaded earrings with fringed
golden tassels my eldest
daughter got for me, made
by women who live in Lake Sebu,
famous for the T'boli weave
they make called t'nalak—
stripped abacá bark, organically
dyed of bark and leaves, each
ripply panel the equivalent
of a chapter from a dream.
I wonder what pattern
I could pull from my own
dreams, especially if
I've forgotten about them
as soon as I open my eyes.
I think everyone should be
given a chance to make something
tangible from a dream at least
once: a recipe dictated in
a dream, a dress with glorious
detail they've only ever seen
in a dream. A mural or
collage in which wild-
flowers open their mouths
like a choir to sing the most
unforgettable songs never
heard by the human ear.

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