If my shadow had stories it could tell
Would it unmask me as frail?
Or perhaps it would speak in prose
About my ability to metamorphose
With my hands I make the birds
My shadow sees –
Or it would it have an identity problem
Sometimes there’s one there’s two there’s three
But the shadows know not it’s just me
Do they even know what I look like?
Sometimes I’m tall and then a tike
And so my shadow twists and changes
From a wide variety and a spectrum of ranges
Of fades of shadows, and differing size
It hides my identity from passersby
But today is dark and will not show
Where did my shadow go?
Perhaps it went on to regale
With the other shadows that go unseen
They conjoin and become one being.
© Luis Valencia