It is not often as a reader of poetry that I encounter a poem built entirely of pure metaphor; where all pretext and embellishment have been gently sanded away. Here is such a poem, By Dark by W.S. Merwin.
When it is time I follow the black dog
into the darkness that is the mind of day
I tell you, settling into words like those is like taking hold of a banister worn smooth by countless hands. There is no question, we are going up. And he has my full attention and emotional investment in the first dyad.
When it is time for what, other than the following?
Where is the darkness? And why – how – is it the mind of day?