Like Prayers Born Dead
by Maxwell Bodenheim
Like prayers born dead, long shadows
Strew the floor and clutch at your feet,
But buoyant with paint you walk to and fro.
The room is garlanded with unseen eyes
That you must evade lest they touch you into sight
And send you, naked, into the moonlight.
“With relief, with humiliation, with terror, he understood that he too was a mere appearance, dreamt by another.”
― Jorge Luis Borges, Labyrinths: Selected Stories and Other Writings