Light is at the source of the world we create for ourselves.
As the moon is the reflected mirror of the creator sun. The celestial sphere of imagination drawn to earth from the firmament
answers questions like those posed by the rain in puddles of fallen stars.

Narcissus luster and memories shine from the lamps of Rome’s ancient oil.
Crystalline antiquity reflects glinting rainbow ghosts from Venetian palace splendor.

Argent candlesticks’ mono-comedic theosophy of fools;
Cocteau smirked of mirrors emulations: mirror ‘o’ mirror reflect before returning these metaphors in bowler hats.
Lace and women improve by candlelight, but of man what in truth is moved…?