Shadow
I walk in crispness,
In everything from the smart and snapping rhythm of heels on concrete
To the razor straight lines of my collar pulled up against the chill,
Quasi covering my ears as I shrug to tuck them further inside the wool of my coat.
My shadow, in which the crispness of the collar
And the snapping shoes cut an abstract outline
--A silhouette, a Bond girl--
My shadow does not follow, but leads,
Pulling me towards my shape unrecognized
True in some future
Or some past
An old soul, a vintage shadow,
Walking the midnight streets of a postcard Provence.
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