In the night’s depth, a dog pads through shallow water in a tunnel. The splashing of his footfalls echoes rhythmically through the space, as if to give the warping shadows a voice. Reflected light shatters in the ripples, casting curling phantoms along the tunnel’s body.

In the water is a silver statue of a man. His hat is the sky, and his eyes are the moon. The dog cannot see the little statue. But the little statue is riding in the dog’s sight. Gliding along the reflected radiance that empowers his eyes to pierce the darkness. Following the crazed rhythm of his footfalls and their echoes. I am the little man. You are the footfalls. The water is time. The tunnel is our transit. These words are my silver.