The Late Forest Walk (poem)

and I wonder why he doesn't look up,

if he's blind,

of if there's something more honest about me

when I'm not there.

“Insomniac Conjectures” - Gillian Sze

A night of darkness

And forgotten light,

Led me to the overarching trees,

Begotten by giants,

Titans, who, in all their power,

Forged a violent goblet, Death's cup.

Amongst those giants of towers,

I wander alongside my shadow,

To stumble across a wolf pup

And I wonder why he doesn't look up.

His eyes follow my shadow,

The mysterious figure of my control.

He dances with it,

As the moon forces it to change.

But still I wonder,

Is the shadow how I am defined?

Or am I inactivity embodied,

And my spectre an adventure?

Maybe shadows are what a man will find

If he's blind.

The woods turn vicious,

Their spectres seize mine,

And the pup prances away,

Not once looking at me.

I look to my hands,

And them I see,

Old and broken,

Shattered, but real. I wonder:

If my shadow is truth set free

Or if there's something more honest about me.

Answers are like leaves.

Every year they form,

Looking like the last,

But different.

They die like the last,

Trapped in winter's eternal despair.

The leaves too cast shadows,

As do I and the trees,

But what's to compare

When I'm not there?

-Zero