The task is fraught.
How to convey the foreign with the familiar?
It is a place you have been a hundred times before,
Yet it has no hallmarks of reality.
Just a feeling.
It all falls short.
Recreating the experience is riddled with slippage and mistranslation.
And that’s if you can hold onto its shape long enough to collage words and emotions,
Before it slips away.
Even if you could…
Surely bringing it into the light of reality would turn it to dust in your hands.
Like returning to a place that doesn’t match its golden memory.
A forced reconstruction, empty of flavour.
Maybe just a hint is more encompassing.
Just an outline of a dream.
Just an impression.
A shifting beam of light,
Or a spinning form,
A warm tunnel,
The silhouette of a space.
Empty and full of potential energy.
Ready for population.
The floating mass of gasses before the planets combined.