My shadow passed me.
He pulled the thin laces
Attaching him to my feet,
and disintegrated
as curtly as he tugged.

It would be one thing
if he ran a little ahead
skipping merrily in view.
But, my shadow
being nothing
more than my own,
became smoke in the fog,
tickling my impatient cheeks
and joined sky's fireworks.

I should be alright in his absence.
After all whats the purpose of a shadow?
He is nothing more than earths black mirror
a natural reflection of action.
He is the other account which
attests as truthfully as I
to the lies of an evening,
a sunrise, and the dimly lit
greys of the night.

I have been long without him.
And he mails me chills sometimes,
like the static of a flannel nest
down my bare skinned spine,
because my colorless mimed companion
grew taller than my
monotonous motions,
provoking my dark puppet to
seek more than I can provide.
While I wander in the lights
searching for him.