Crafting Lightbeams

peeking in

To the Owl,

Who are you?

Are you made up of dozens of people, of words no one will say, of dreams some cannot dream while others are kept awake by them?

Are you the man on the corner of Fourth and Main, a bird perched on a low branch, or a shadow passing over my head?

Are you the lights that dance like mottled moonbeams over summer grass, or the girl with a shuttered smile?

Are you a wandering star-walker, an alien trying to be hid (yet seen), a human clawing at the cages, the walls, the masks?

"I am me, as you are you." Would this be what you'd answer? It is true, and no doubt something you'd say, straightforward and with a proper period at the end. Well, I would not blame you if the night swallows your words, or the morning breaks your eyes from the sky. My head is too much caught up there anyway.

So here I am. Are you there?