by Wyn Caudle
Ethereal light swims behind you
I see the shadows cast by regrets
Looming and swarming without nets
Reaching and crawling to latch onto anything
Everything
The nearest thing.
A limb?
A hat brim?
A fresh trim?
I move
It moves
I turn to the moon
I hear a flash
It’s captured
A silhouette against the sky’s backdrop
A frozen frame for my eyes and desktop
I eavesdrop
And hear them say stop…