A WAY OF SAYING
A mole can move
the whole forest
while searching for
some word of the sun.
And though I was no one
you’d ever heard of
when I returned home
you welcomed me in.
The sky’s up to something—
what little there is in the way
of light’s missed us again.
In that same way I’ll know that
you’ll lie when I ask you how
isn’t the soul just another word
we’ve reserved for some
part of us long abandoned—
for I too have spent
most of this other life
shunning the touch of
that same exact shadow.