What’s Real

What’s real to me isn’t
what’s real to you.
Our eyes see differently,
each being tempers her experience
into such singular colors.
You see shades and shapes I’ll never know,
and only I, see mine.

And then, we each are always rearranging,
pushing our reality around.
With a broom of current beliefs,
each of us fiercely sweeps what seems so actual
into our latest favorite light,
where it gleams as bright and true as if
all of us saw and sensed the same.

I cannot know how it feels to you
to sit alone in the garden.
What messages, I wonder,
does the chorus at dawn bring to your ears?
I can’t convey the moment only I experience
between my sleeping and my waking,
the click of different dimension.

The subtle thing that erases seclusion
to let us glimpse each other’s world
is the giant intimate thing
true all along when you open your other eyes.
As all my cells join to make a body,
so they’re joined to yours in a larger one,
all beings linked to form what’s really real.

©Susa Silvermarie 2025