a thought unrecognized

Of things unwritten;
how long will it take
to surface and stain?

To the shadow on the wall
cast in gray

you are not the mug
nor the light
nor the white wall,
so sure of its irregular dimples

but a question
in too little color,

a thought unrecognized
impermeable and flat,
a quizzical glance to dust;

what hides in your shape?
nothing so deep as your color
something so flexed in symbolism

the meaning asks itself
to whom do I belong?

Dear shadow;
this is not to say you are worthless
or you are weak or purposeless

since my hand shadows this page
and as long as there is light
you may exist as well

but you are manipulated into form
again and again
in a dimension less than mine

this is what
I see.


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