Shadow

Shape of everything, made of black reflection.
Contrasted from the yellow sun on the bricks' wall.
Body without face, passage without a view.
Figure that you cannot interview.

Shadow, snitcher of light
Hide, from fences of eyes,
For reaper strong and weird.

From the tree blow by the wind,
The leafs fly, attached to the pavements' sky.
Mixing around, invisible outline.
Of a cone pointed shape of irregular shade.

And the smoke held by the tree hock.
Heat the warm floor, of spots & shoots.
Intoxicating the shadow, like through harrow.
Fading away on the windy shallow.

poem by Luca Menin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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