on shadows: for Steve

the world
has been reduced
to shadows
and though I sit
next to you
on the bench
you only see
a shadow
where my face is
the food
on your plate
the club soda
in your glass
are shadows
you know
the East River
is out there
can hear it
the seagulls calling
can even smell it
but it belongs
to a world
in shadow
that one day
will be black
and though you talk
of alternatives
there is fear
your words
as the rest
of your health
slips away
into shadows
taking you

4 thoughts on “on shadows: for Steve

  1. Scary and real, this place in life where words usually left as metaphors become real things, like the shadows in this poem. Every symbol or image or metaphor used to be something real. The return trip from metaphor back to something real is extremely scary. Thanks for sharing that with us, L.

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