It's hard to tell <br> if we close our eyes or if night <br> opens in us other starred eyes, <br> if it burrows into the wall of our dream <br> till some other door opens. <br> But the dream is only the flitting costume of one moment, <br> is spent in one beat <br> of the darkness, <br> and falls at our feet, cast off <br> as the day stirs and sails away with us.
Miracle me no miracles.