Last night I was out walking the dog after sunset and watched our shadows grow and shrink as we passed under the streetlights. I left the dog out of this poem, though. Perhaps she should be in it.
Shadow Walking
When I walk the lamp-lit streets, my shadow
shifts with each new light I pass:
behind, beside, beneath, before
behind, beside, beneath, before-
each pool of brightness, a sundial day,
a brief night of dimness in-between.
By this measure, each block I circle
is half a month, and I’ve walked more
months than I have lived, only to return
to a home, either warmly lit with welcome
or so dark my shadow disappears.
Shadow Walking
When I walk the lamp-lit streets, my shadow
shifts with each new light I pass:
behind, beside, beneath, before
behind, beside, beneath, before-
each pool of brightness, a sundial day,
a brief night of dimness in-between.
By this measure, each block I circle
is half a month, and I’ve walked more
months than I have lived, only to return
to a home, either warmly lit with welcome
or so dark my shadow disappears.
great poem!
ReplyDeleteespecially the two last lines.
it's true;you always want to return to a place/person even if you know that you might be hurt yourself....
*my mistake .... you might hurt yourself
ReplyDelete