The Grasping

The hum of shadows, alive
beneath the darkened canopies–I haven’t seen you
for a while in the place where stars wander on the water like lost sea-fish,
now your face reaches across the low glimmer of night, a net
soft and unquiet. But you were never lost, another shadow returning to this night, the density of one.

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A golden shovel poem in response to Genre Challenge #11. The poem I chose was H.D.’s “The Pool”.