Tuesday, May 2, 2023


On those calmer, 
brighter afternoons, I 

catch you sprawling 
on the ground—

my closest dubious 

my maddeningly 
equanimous shadow.

Silent, sable, smooth 
as sand, you 

invite me 

to lie right down, 
stretch out the now 

until it grows 

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.