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.