In tea leaves their dreams were pulled from a garden where the bugs and the burrs settled in and the sun speckled them through. Their dreams of the past they were planted, buried in composted soil, watered for the present, and nurtured for the future. Their dreams, of more unified souls, and happier homes they were plucked and dried and stirred into memories. With a dollop of honey and a splash of milk, we’re drinking their dreams, we’re drinking their memories, into our own.
