my shadow takes
up little
space
when the air’s
sucked
out
of rooms so
vast
no whisper’s
felt
upon the neck
or back.
shadows
with wings like
shadows
he veils wild
eyes
from smoke, which coats
his feathers
like threats that plague him
through the
night.
upon
dashboard–
i spot lights and
dials to guide
my ride
midst
whispers
from backseat
driver side.
the whoosh of
shadows
from not quite beyond
the senses
assure that i
am ever
seen.
a hanging
shadow–
i pass through
you
notice not my
whisper
in blind attempt
to catch your focus
if only for the
moment.
shadow passenger
on train
nods as he
passes
by,
i’ve never caught
his face,
although we’ve
met eye to
eye.
hands in the garden 
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