Saturday, November 16, 2013

Little Moving Picture

Last night I saw two shadows,
one slight and one steady
muffled by curtains,
painted in lazy lamplight, 
framed by bricks
a little moving picture

a post card for my secret self,
of what things could be
it could be me in the foggy glass
some version of me
that found you
and you could come to me
every evening

- and our shadows could dance,
and light up the window
again and again
our shadows would seem heavy
on cold nights
and thin in the summer

sometimes they won’t match
- mine will sag close to the sill
yours might seem fuzzy and far
but they will always meet
slip into each other in the end
every evening

in our little moving picture.

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