It is Tomas’s birthday today...he would have been forty-four.

It is Tomas’s birthday today...he would have been forty-four.

It is not the shadow

The pattern on a wall

Created from bamboo

Inspiring William Morris

To create an art form

On a roll of paper

The dapple down

Of sunlight filtered through

The beechnut tree

The darkness in the corner

Of the street

Behind the dustbins

With the fast food boxes and syringes

The Stygian river

Flowing into Hades

At the edge of town

The shimmer

In the shiver

Down your spine

When the porch lights fail

The fumble in the dark

Looking for a door key

At the bottom

Of your bag

When the moon hides

Beneath the cover

Of low cloud

As a stray dog howls

A wild cat calls

The key falls

It is not the shadow

You should fear

But what might linger

In the margins

That should concern you

Not the patterns on a wall

The space beneath a bed

The whisper in your head

When all is said

Has come to be done

In the long run

It is the real thing

Hiding in plain sight

A reality

With more than two dimensions

And sharp teeth

That will ultimately bite you.