Wednesday, March 21, 2007


Here is a poem from long ago.

Shadows are loyal as the sun
And as lone: low slabs, the chance
Uncoloured quiet of things, down-cast.

Lengthening as the day declines,
Short as it looms, shy
At noon and blind at night,

Fat behind hills, and fast
Fluttering over footpaths,
Fleeing endlessly under cars,

Calm, they come and leave
As objects do. They move
As movement does. To lose,

To lose them leaves the desert or the night.
To choose them dims the bright,
Leaving shade, the dark that proves the light.