Spinning Shadow
I slowly tread the prickle-cold mat of grass
And savor the mud that squishes between my toes
The darkening night smells musky here, and damp,
And not just because there is a pond. The moisture’s in the
Air, wrapping around my arms, a warning of coming rain—
Splashes sound as duck lands on water
And the land and sky-bound birds splash, too,
In bursts of song and color that I can’t see, somewhere
In the muted browns of the nearby wood.
I turn my course to where the pavement starts,
Where the stars are blocked by towers of light—
Those that create so many shadows.
I touch one foot against the manmade walk
Of dry concrete. It’s rough and chafes against my feet.
I pass each streetlight. I watch my shadow spin.
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