Created by the Dreamers

I can almost
cut a hole in the air
to open a door,
from here into there.
I can nearly peer through.
I’m close,
close to seeing
the dreamer dreaming.

An inch away
from waking to my part,
I imagine the baton in my hand.
Between my thumb and pointer,
I hold it high—
it whistles as I dance it down,
creating
everything I hear and know.

Not all of it harmonious
Two women today
asked me on the street
for money to feed their babies.
Is this, too, my doing?
What
has happened
in this living concert?

Not just mine
but billions of batons
swing through air to make the world.
Your doing, my doing,
our creations so collective, it confounds.
But nearly, nearly
we’re piercing through the dream
preparing to own our roles.

Ears and eyes are opening
to the discord,
and so it starts to fade.
In the orchestration of our world,
one by one we come
swelling into accord, our frequency
shimmering the globe,
created by the dreamers.

©Susa Silvermarie 2021