The world is a story we tell ourselves about the world.
-Vikram Chandra, novelist (b. 1961)
OK, Vikram, mon semblable, where are you going with this? I call you my familiar because we were born the same year. You haven’t wasted as much time as I, watching TV, have you?
I think I understand. We see the world as through a glass, darkly, and have to spatter the fleeting reality with droplets of the human, to prevent us seeing through the truth entirely.
Perhaps your observation is more literary than philosophical: the writer’s task to put the world into context. I don’t know, but it seems more shallow. In any case, I keep coming back to Wright:
I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on.
A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home.
I have wasted my life.
One more thing, Vikram: All glory is fleeting. Wright was only six years older than us when he died.
Metaphor 
Right you are, Joe, on both counts. I keep picturing a world behind the world that we erect with Mind – like stage scenery – to help us tolerate if not understand it.
PS Vikram’s quote seems very descartian, “I think therefore I am.” As if the world doesn’t actually exist outside our own consciousness of it. With a view like that, it does indeed make for a very dark glass.
I love the poem Kyle. He’s visuals are so accessible. The last line changes everything and makes you re-read the poem tottally different. Good stuff.