When is a metaphor not a metaphor but something else?
When is a symbol not a symbol but a kind of contract
between strangers that have never met?
We put our armor on in the dark.
We don’t waste our time with mirrors.
Instead we wander within the silver linings of our own reverie.
A child plays with a purple dinosaur in a sandbox;
he imagines worlds from long ago
(now vanished if they ever existed at all).
The night makes everything whole again.
The stars peek out at us from behind a curtain.
They see us before we see them.