When I am lost, my shadow is still with me.  
It doesn’t ask for direction.  
It doesn’t rush.  
It simply follows,  
soft-footed and patient,  
like memory without judgment.

I wander through questions,  
through days that blur at the edges,  
and still
there it is,  
stretching beside me in morning light,  
curling beneath me at dusk.

It knows the shape of my doubt.  
It’s traced every ache,  
every pause,  
every almost.

And though I feel alone,  
I am never unseen.  
My shadow stays  
not to guide,  
but to witness.

Shadowing Still

When I am lost, my shadow is still with me.  
God is also my shadow
not above, not beyond,  
but beside me,  
folded into the hush between footfalls.

No thunder, no decree.  
Just the soft echo of presence  
in the curve of my doubt,  
the warmth behind me  
when I cannot face the sun.

God does not lead.  
God lingers.  
God waits in the outline I cast  
when I forget how to pray.

And maybe that’s grace
not the path,  
but the patience  
to walk with me  
even when I wander.