Shadows

Shadows love to sing.
On still, moonless nights they
coalesce into choirs on
the steps of government buildings,
in the arched doorways of churches,
and the empty floors of parking garages.
They sing their hymns, their nearly
soundless vespers, sighing like the
wind through dead leaves, like distant waterfalls
only dogs and the mad can hear.

The sing for us, these shades of ours,
they see our days and know we need prayers.
Their chant is an invocation, as shadows know
a blessing for us is all they can ask
of the still, silent, space into which their
voices rise.