In this canto from the Love-song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S.Eliot dazzles us with words, which morph into vivid images.
The fog is a dog.
The night is a solid space.
Everything is a metaphor that carries meaning from one entity to another, and by so doing, transfigures both.
It's alchemy through ink.
"The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep."
from the Love-song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S.Eliot