Posted on Leave a comment

Your Contour

Shimmering in the light that turns you black,
your contour dances in front of the door;
a throbbing pulse of movement reaches me, a sight
as unlike your appearance as the sun itself –
you’re vivified by light and in your shade,
granted enormous proportions now,
I stand incensed, appalled yet, at your life –
your contour’s dancing with the sun in front of me,
its darkness seems to come and go; to be yet not to be;
only your shadow falling on the floor seems real to me

Leave a Reply

Your e-mail address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.