Meeting Shadows
by Plynn Gutman
I hear a melody in the wind.
Who reclines, eyes closed,
Lost in its slow rhythm?
I want to see the easy curve
in the road, listen for gardenias
blooming at dusk.
Under a rock lives a city
of creatures unknown to me.
I feel small like that
under the moonless sky;
only a warm touch
can change my mind.
A glass bottle in my hand
distorts the form of fingers
clasped around its neck,
flesh pressed firm
like gum laid flat
on the underside of a table.
I remember a time when
the moon fell behind the clouds,
but soon returned in bold fullness.
Now I must look hard
to find its shadow
among the waning stars.
Lilies’ delicate stamens stain my fingers.
I know not to touch them but I do
out of habit, like brushing
dust off a table while talking
about things that hold more
meaning than words allow.
Last night the eastern horizon
shone muted rose.
I hoped the moon had returned
from its hiding place,
causing the sky
to blush backwards.
Plynn Gutman 