The Fugitive

Shadow photo


It is so easy to lose the obvious.

Stare through a mirror at one’s self

And neglect the glass for consciousness.

Chase within for that elusive elf

Which was conjured into being

Out of reflective surfaces of seeing.


But the glass, as fingertips will tell,

Limns the boundary of true extent

And that twisted ghost encased is no real shell

But mere light, deceived, ricocheted and bent

Which resounds down through mental corridors

To imprint now between afters and befores.


This now that flees on feet of seconds pattering

Is glimpsed in fleeting colors, clashing sounds,

Here, then gone, leaving echoes clattering,

Pursued by yelps of recall’s hounds,

Which, when we reflect and pause

Bring back our childhood in their jaws.



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