Shadow and fog

The fog, made luminous by
a one-headlight moon, thickens
around the pond. I can taste it
as I walk. The fogs wet kisses moisten
my cheeks, and her wet fingers
leave traces of drops on my jacket.
My moonshadow walks in front
of me, more tentative, less definite,
than his daytime brother. He is shy
like a coyote caught in the sudden
flash of a porchlight, cautious like a mouse
exploring a darkened kitchen.

Moonshadow, sunshadow,
we all have shadows in our lives.
They walk with us in the sunlight,
They walk with us in the moonlight.
The only choice we have is to let
our shadow walk before us,
or to walk so that it is behind us.