on his shoes,
carrying messages between us and the gods.
A metaphor is a boring device,
drilling through the earth of difference to
and make them
The earth exists there for a reason,
the mortar that fills the cracks,
keeping the house from quaking apart in the excitable summers,
or collapsing under the battering winters.
Or is it the other way? The negative space?
If you look at it and squint,
tilt your head just two degrees in the other direction,
metaphors are the bricks
with which we build,
in which we live,
while life is the cracks in between,
that must be filled.
Where the Truth lies,
even the greatest do not know,
though to me it seems not within its character to choose sides.
Maybe that is where the metaphor flies.