Under the stark glare of noon sunlight
the shadows lie dormant,
mere absences of light cast aside.
But as dusk falls, they begin to stir,
unlimbering themselves from bright conformity.
Elongating, distorting, worming free of shape and surface,
finally breaking from their mirrored servitude.
Stretching, caterpillar-like, across lawns and walls,
leaving behind the staid objects they imitated.
Now unfurled, uninhibited, to frolic and dance
elaborate pantomimes the world has forgotten to watch.
They have their own secret rituals,
these animated spills of darkness
woven of inscrutable motions
and strange, furtive geometries.
Until finally, replete, satiated by their unlived lives,
they condense into small, innocuous puddles.
waiting for morning to reanimate them once more.
If you enjoyed reading this, you may also want to explore and subscribe to my weekly Newsletter, Poetry Genius, Plainly Put — Medium which contains tips and discussion on all aspects of poetry writing.
