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Some distance off
you’d see a shadow
growing, spreading,
consuming the street,
imposing, menacing,
and you’d run, run –
the refrain of dreams.

In waking reality, too,
you sensed the shadow
amid people and places,
familiar and foreign faces,
and politely, quietly,
when possible, you’d retire
into apparent safety.
Or still talking, still in the room,
with little or much to say,
your look halfhearted, not pellucid,
you were still countries away…

It seems light years away
or solar systems away
when you’d retire or run
now that you sit with Me
and speak many a sun.
You see in hindsight
I was there – neither menacing
nor the shadow chasing you.
It was you that played death’s part,
projecting the chase and shadow too.

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