Tuesday, January 7, 2020

Shadow Boxer

Daily feints and floryshes
In the forest of mirrors,
In the black woods of words—

We are practicing our moves
For when our partner is real
And evenly matched to us,

Not a mirror, not these woods,
Not the blank page, not the lines—
A reader, fabulous beast,

One familiar with the moves
And looking to add a few
More to wicked repertoire.

When monster faces monster
For an audience of ghosts,
First move to the wanderer,

Second to the hermeneut,
Who knows who will land more blows,
Whose glaring eyes glaze over

Where they fell in bloodied snow?
We spin and throw our punches,
Long form, in close, side to side.

The wind tunes the trees in sighs,
In sliding scales, whispery
Breezes, gusts, chorusing gales.

But the wonderful monster,
The shadow that matches us
For heft and reach, runs from us.

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