Shape and Shadow

The land that’s seen in dreams alone

shows the shadow of the light;

the flesh that covers up the bone

does only what is right.

For all do know what none can know,

and none know what all do,

and if the light through dark can show

you’ll see that this is true.

The shadow of a distant soul

cast all in tones and shades,

and voices singing on the shoals

whose music never fades…

And if a heart could have a heart,

a soul its own soul bright,

then neither could one end or start;

a beginning ending, right?

But if a voice that’s never heard

should sing and sing in vain…

if thought’s the echo of a word,

then is a cave a brain?

A path that winds in ways obscure,

like guttered candle-flame

is little less, is little more,

but never quite the same.

To drift from death to life again,

from life once more to die,

what’s left of grace, or even sin,

when from this world we fly?

And if I speak so very plain,

and state it all so clear,

a napkin all without a stain

is left just lying here.