Perhaps We are the Dream

[sample of a female voice]
[?]

[Steve Scott]
Perhaps we are the dream,
I pay the equivalent of a dollar to be the single audience member, shivering on a wooden chair and drenched.
I rode here down [sight?] streets,
beneath a sky knotted with fists-
a sky tensely muscled with rain.
The driver quickly pulled a makeshift plastic cover over the frame
and we moved on under the urgent, angry drumming.
But now, inside, soft clouds arе fragrant smoke,
slowly halo the storytellеr, as he calls the puppets to life.

Beneath thick blankets of rain the orchestra stirs,
begins a low throbbing pulse,
melodic threads and phrases assemble, drip and splash,
in rivulets, streams, echoing pools of sound.
Beneath his touch, the puppets shift,
as if loosening from their sleep or moving deeper,
and if they are the dreamers, then the music now suggests,
that perhaps we are the dream they slowly enter.