The moon catches me off-guard at times,
like when I walk out on newly-fallen snow
with that bright ball at my back. The moon can cast
a startling shadow, disparate in its movements,
unconnected to me, heeding its own will as if it
hosts dark thoughts and memories it won't share.
It can try to outpace me, and given the chance it
curves over mounds of snow, disappearing
and reappearing, elongating, foreshortening.
It's as if it wants me to give chase, or at least
try, so we can partake of folly together. Only
when my shadow is on a building, a wall,
perpendicular, erect, will it reconnect and become
a part of me once again, part of those things
of which I dream, my hopes, successes, failures,
sharing this journey which has become my life
and regardless of its resolve, that of my shadow.