All Life is Juliet

The dawn treads 
over open eyes
which sparkle and go white,
thrust into wretched blind.
They stalk the halls
feeling up walls,
their hands finding
the edge of the world,
where emptiness engulfs
their open palm,
then, as if touching a mirror,
their hands intertwine, 
and clasp in tight fingers
they whisper, “Don’t let go,”
they whisper, “I am lost,”
And their foreheads meet,
and there is shape to the world.

Life is Juliet,
he thinks,
All life is Juliet.