The Shadow Poet
by Wendy Gist



There he is twining morning
glories ‘round the fire hydrant.

Three times he checks the mail
Where’s he now?

Plucking plums
from a lumbering tree.

Then he follows the fall of light,
fixed in thought as cicadas croon

melodies that dissipate
on the hot street like a surfer

riding the soft golden wave of summer
trailed by the shadow-weight

weight-shadow shadow shadow
of a sun bleached cat.







Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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