Poetry / Poets

The Shadow’s Ego by Phillip Mellor

Late upon the mountain

The rain comes

Soaks stone, mud, gravel

And you watch from your window

Waiting for your shadow.

 

3am, still no sign;

A crippled cry echoes

Across the segregated night.

Her words cling like tree resin

To your tired ears;

 

Will sleep not come

Peel back the years?

 

Moon falling upon the reservoir,

Ripples extend and merge;

A wave of silver, a phantom figure,

A pale girl now a woman

Pass upon your page.

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