Shadows Idle, Underfoot
My shadow, idle, waits for you
under my feet; It's shy at noon.
I am bare foot, feeling the squirming
-The restlessness of that manmade shade
It can't stand the waiting,
to see you.
Yours will peek, soon,
when you arch into a tiptoe
when greeting me.
Now your shadow, barely touching open air,
like the nose of a shy mouse;
Cautious and curious.
Nervous, but still definite,
as it's stepping out.
How long our shadows stretch, comfortable,
as we walk forward into the afternoon.
Sometimes they blend, at turns,
or lean into whispers, when we divulge
a casual secret.
Tight roping disclosures,
but nudging with our toes
the line of tolerance.
Keeping it ahead of us.
Hoping and fearing;
We need to know these things,
ahead of our last gasps
Until evening, when we hang
our shadows behind us.
Like old wings, that lifted the weight
when we had felt self conscious.
Unneeded now, so let them rest,
as we worship these moments
in front of the fireplace.
As we stare into the flames of obliteration,
our thoughts become wooden pickets,
ripped from the fences of our pasts,
then fed to that merciful volcano
encased in brick.
As we are absolved
of the splinters of our histories.
We burn clean, it shows upon our faces
-Softened by the blessing of the fire.
Sitting stoic, showering in the illumination
of a fresh chance, at having someone understanding.
As our shadows, behind our backs, dance.
Tribal. Conjuring the spirit of courage,
to lift us from our trance
of doubts and happenstance.
Some things perhaps, are meant to be.
This; You and me.
As the fire is ebbing,
our shadows fall,
We embrace within them,
wearing them like a warm night cloth.
Until morning, when they follow us out
like capes on super-heroes.