My Witness is the Empty Sky

The sun weighs heavy on me
throwing shade behind every standing thing.
These shadows—these birds move like slow
bullets across the pavement. I look down
but they are up. And I am dragging
my shadow across town: over train tracks
and fences; sometimes lost below
overpasses and trees.

And when he lets up, about to die
and there is only shade and barely light,
and birds pass overhead but not below,
I am alone. It’s colder
than before, but not heavy; I shake though
the strain is gone.

That moon is no friendly woman,
and I stumble in her feigned light.
I long to see a passing car that
promises to save me from the
birdless skies that make all kindly shadows
cruel—but there are none.
And I cannot see my feet, but I feel them
buckling beneath my will.

The moon is not heavy on me.
She is only cold.