Obstruction
A shadow, thick and still,
blocking the sun’s path
across my dusty road.
Not a tree—
too solid,
lacking rustle or sway.
Not a wall,
though it bears weight,
no brick, no mortar, no gray.
It hums.
A low vibration,
felt more than heard—
a tremor in the bone,
as if the ground remembers something
I’ve tried to forget.
I try to step around it.
It stretches,
mirrors my movement,
stays ahead of me,
patient as consequence.
Is it fear,
finally dense enough to cast shade—
a monument built
from every hesitation?
Or something unfinished,
rootless,
searching for a place
to stand still?
I reach out.
My hand pauses
where light should be,
hovering at the edge of proof,
knowing once I touch it,
it will learn my name.
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