My shadow has no memory of
that frantic, panicked, pell-mell flight --
No pain or expectations, craving,
dying to escape his bondage.
Look, he's crouching, vibrates with
desire that only shadows feel;
He's poised to spring, to pounce, as if
the shadow of some predator,
Some dusky, fleeting contrast on
the sidewalk of my consciousness,
Some ragged blank impression on
the sand dunes of my memory --
We move, the spell is broken, sliding
frictionless along the garden
Seeking our reflection in
the pools of last night's rainfall,
In the golden machinations of the sunlight from the east.
posted morning of Monday, July 4th, 2011
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