there is a preponderance of darkness tonight,
yet still the yellow lights stream through the road clear
some transient shapes form and shift
depending where we place our fingers
let us construct a man from the shadows of my and your form,
from the shadows of the sharp-topped homes, from the shadows of the long pole
let us be fastidious, let us be scrupulous,
as a man made of shadows may be as supercilious as he is plaintive
the yellow lights begin to flicker, so the bends of dark mass begin to wave
we hear the entreaties of a weak, screaming being;
liminal thing, we think, stricken with, stuck between, grief and fear– this is not moral.
we throw a rock at the light so no more shadows exist, and the screams fade to hums
we begin the walk home, glass strewn about us, our shadows merrily hidden in the ubiquitous black.