Deborah L. Davitt
I see my shadow on the sidewalk there—
myself, robbed of dimensionality.
Just a void where light should be, as photons
rain down waves, passing around and through me.
And as I stare at her featureless face,
I think that if there’s dark light, like matter,
dark photons thrown from invisible stars,
could render me a shadow just like her.
And then I’m falling into my shadow,
dissolving through time and space, to peer through
the eyes of my five-dimensional self; she
who dances through time, free of death’s purview.
Stunned by what to her is banality,
I shatter as she pauses to wonder,
just where her faceless shadow’s gotten to.