I fell asleep
I dreamt I had a canvas
And a palette with blobs of densely colored paint
I began painting on this canvas feverishly, feeding the canvas its food
My hand danced, stroke after stroke with a wisdom of technique I questioned possible
My brushes moved with a rhythm, too choreographed for coincidence
I was destined to paint a masterpiece
A voice, not audible, it was intuitive
Suggested I call the painting "earth"
I awoke after the last stroke of my brush was meticulously placed upon the canvas
And saw what I had created was no longer a dream, but a beautiful reality.