We dress up our eyes
In the suits of perspective,
Tie knots of conviction
Around our necks.
The world’s a stage
Where truth shifts with the light,
Each gaze a script
Editing the scene.
In the corner,
An old man insists
The shadows are solid,
A beggar trades
Silence for alms.
A child looks on,
An empty slate,
Sketches a bird
Where we argue sky.
No fact to anchor,
Winds of whim and whisper
Unfurl the sails,
Chart courses into mist.
We nod, we argue,
Fetch bones for dogs,
Interpretations
Scurrying after.
At the end of the day,
Our pockets heavy with stones
Called certainty,
We wade into dreams,
Folded maps
In hands that tremble.