Shadow Man

He lives there on the floor,

always looking up

at a reality above

he cannot comprehend.

His world is flat,

though he does not know what flat is.

Shadow Man moves and flows with the light,

always dependent on that other one

for his position in the world.

Sometimes he dances,

a dappled animation

that merges excitedly with

other shadows passing.

I wonder how the world looks

in his view:

a mostly horizontal perspective

which rises up only when

there is something else

to reflect or perhaps project upon.

Stirring

I stir the drink.

Heat and small grains

Rise to the top,

Only to slowly sink

Back down,

The weight of forgiveness

Bearing them gently.

I am a god

Who can choose

To change the world,

Or leave it alone

- Either well or not so well.

Each action an earthquake

Every motion a revolution,

I see the separation

Of surface and content

And I see they are made

Of the same such stuff

As dreams;

While reality is disappearing.

I am each and every grain;

I am the whole.

I am a cat, and a blade of grass,

A murderer and a saint:

There is nothing I am not

As I dissolve into nothing.

I drink the drink

And it is gone.