Archetype

Often

I feel that our fingertips just brush together

against a curtain of the imagination

spun like a dream web between us

in the otherworld of sleep.

Here

the blurry and carnival faces

bend identities together

but some of us linger like archetypes

burning quintessence like a torch

to hold on to the light.

Map this road

this way

that you may know me too

when faces cover us like feathers

and our thousand eyes look out

from a mask of darkness.

There are a million gods

here with me

again

and they are nearly all strangers.