The Shadow

A poem by Zachariah Wahrer

Birds below, confetti born on Gaia’s breath.
The clouds are wisps, alien vessels of obscurity.
Gravity tugs at my soul, inescapable, indomitable.
What does it mean?
We puncture her skin, drain the ancients, burn our fires.
I can see for days, but I cannot see the future.
The shadow chases, leads, assimilates.
Where am I now, a million years ago?
The memory of the future spurs me on.
The shadow breathes.
Ravens sing the only song I ever want to hear.
I cast my mind, seeking to touch the lost.
Where are they?
The fence is tall. Red and grey stand starkly against withered grass.
What did they do?
I see life’s shape, hear the consciousness of eons.
The shadow laughs.

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