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Shadows
Shadows

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So many shadows Have come Into this house. Under every dining chair Lies an architecture, A fretwork, of dusk. The edge of the phone Where it lies Is dissolved into dimness. The cup in my hand Holds an obscurity Turning . . .

So many shadows Have come Into this house. Under every dining chair Lies an architecture, A fretwork, of dusk. The edge of the phone Where it lies Is dissolved into dimness. The cup in my hand Holds an obscurity Turning on the glaze. Under my fingers Others flex and travel In motions of shade. On…

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