The reality of buried truths raised suddenly into light is like a scalpel driven solely by an intent to slash, irregardless of whether or not a healing follows. And within the dim corridors of such an observation dwells many dangers indeed; chief among them perhaps, the horror of a man glimpsing his image in a shard of truth's mirror and discovering he is––or at least that some fundamental segment of him remains––as yet, a lost and broken little boy.

(The Us That Never Was, p. 29). - The American Poet Who Went Home Again (2008)