Tuesday, May 2, 2023

DOPPELGANGER

On those calmer, 
brighter afternoons, I 

catch you sprawling 
on the ground—

my closest dubious 
interlocutor; 

my maddeningly 
equanimous shadow.

Silent, sable, smooth 
as sand, you 

ponderously 
invite me 

to lie right down, 
stretch out the now 

until it grows 
indefinite. 

But when I try 
to imitate

your stealth and 
sleekness, and your length, 

all of my passion
and acceptance contract 

toward pity 
and attachment. 

In stillness, and prostrate
before your mirage,

each step I don't take
is now a practice; 

every sound I 
don't hear, 

every itch 
I don't scratch, 

an homage 
to your blackness.