They are (unconsciously) generating the waves we ride, and cannot detect any of this because they are asleep in a place we are awake within. They could not understand the wave or the riding, but we are the riding and can see them sleeping. It is as if the storm of their sleeping minds moves us, making perspectives, multiplying them… intelligently, skillfully eliciting complex constellations of figurative linkage — teaching us what their dreaming intelligences enfigure or imply. We can neither explain nor dismiss this. We are seagulls forming flocks in an atmosphere divine, lofted into new atmospheres many times each day, as the storming dreamers sing in their sleep. And we, as if a bracelet, upon which the living charms of their fluidly restive intelligences are linked — and sing.