Look at that night sky Marcus, covering its deception with a blanket of darkness, turning on within every vulnerable soul, twinkling stars of yearning, of thirst, of longing beyond the mirror of possibility.
You think dreams are a charade of the light?
See the morning, bright, transparent, you look though the air and your thoughts float before you like bubbles in the sunshine, cradling rainbows, cavorting with the butterflies.
And the night gives them places to hide, to fuse, to morph into a six-faced chimera that sings and roars and whispers to your fears.
Even the moon tries to shred the dark, Marcus, but she always fades away.
the heron and the water
turn into the sky