If light + a building = shadow
then shadow - a building = light,
(although nothing equals light)
figures a guy whose job it is
to stand by the gate
which is to be closed at all times
and open it
admitting light with the John Deere 690s,
the stones they track
and the shadows stuck like vines, high noon.
His own shadow paces, leans, examines his left hand,
compressing to flowers, hardhats, safety fencing.
He rolls up his sleeves, lights a smoke, waits for
time to go away, wonders if what is real
can't be imagined.
Light + a dream = recognition.
In light + memory he's naked
except for his shadows,
light so seldom leaving
Gerry Hill is the
poetry editor of Grain.