Poetry

Blinding the dark

It flicks its fingers at the edge of my vision

This shadow

Pulling its cloak quick over my face

To grey my view of everything I rise to meet.

 

I claw the cloak away, but threads always remain.

I can’t see them until I take a good look,

And by then, the shadow itself has returned to repeat the process.

 

It’s made a mistake this time.

This time I step forward to greet it,

And with me I bring the flares of the sun.