Shadows

The edge is always there,

dangerously close to

wherever I am.

Or where anybody is.

I sleep lightly,

like a soldier before battle.

I wake quickly,

like a light being clicked on.

I lurk in the shadows

of the hot day,

waiting for night

to come to my rescue.

It’s a sudden chill,

an unexpected nuance.

It’s the universal truth

and the quintessential lie.

The perpetuation of the

Great Mystery sustains us all.

Do you know what’s

on the dark side of the moon?

Or the dark side of your closest friend?

Are the light and dark opposites?

Or two parts of the same?

Where do the shadows go

when the lights are turned off?

Is this all too thick?

When, after all, I know it isn’t

because you’ve been there too.

But it sure isn’t the letter I thought

I was going to write.

The words threw themselves

onto the paper and I got inky

when I got in the way.

And why am I so crazed?

Because you’re there

and I’m

           here…

Jeff Fraga

Jeff Fraga is a poet and playwright living on Bainbridge Island, Washington.