We are the sleep-singers
secreted away in our worship
scattered to four winds and buried underground like seeds
coming up for air and rare sun like cicadas

Since society’s dawn we have sacrificed our nights
that The Great Dreamer may slumber in peace

Insignificant as we are, perhaps He does not hear
our unending Song
but what else is there to do?

Art: “Dreamtime Sisters” by Colleen Wallace Nungari