That bird is a burglar
and that river’s a fake.
They both build their lives in part
off thieving and mistakes.
It’s all built on luck and second chances in the rain.
That moon is a failure
and that mirror’s a fraud.
It’s all just reflections
in the shadows on the wall.
They both frame reflection as an image of their own.
And that sound from an airplane?
It’s just wind from the past.
And that painting of power?
Paper thin like a mask.
See, that train is a fool
and that car is a wreck;
that door hinge complains
and that tree holds no nests.
That pen and that wheel and that road up the hill,
they can’t express feelings, they can’t even feel.
While hiding our truths as a mark of disgrace,
we won’t save the world if we’re all saving face.
Since all-everything can have beauty in flaws,
our shortcomings need not be covered at all.