Shadows have no nationality
but cross paths, cross winds,
cross seas and deep canyons,
treeless deserts and endless plains;
accidents of time, war and hunger,
driven by an infinite thirst
to some distant oasis or safe port
or some sure place to emerge
when night offers a tunnel into new lands.

But on the other side, in sunlight,
they remain to us shadows, speechless
shapes darkening the outer edge of the cities,
outcasts in the land of women and men,
specters of what we fear we might become.

Sitges, 4-5-17



Clifton Ross




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