I'm Not My Body. I'm Not Even My Mind

Soft, as the paws of a cat,
barely touching the ground as it glides
towards an inattentive sparrow,
a crack creeps into my chest.

I am taken by surprise,
of the movements of the past,
a shadowplay with one spectator,
on eyelids’ verso set for viewing.

I stop and wonder at this show,
the mechanisms that make this moment,
deep down inside, a light must be
that makes the shadows come to life.

Like a detective, I would like
to follow down the secret path,
to link the clues and make them speak,
to find the fuel of the light.

Photo via Unsplash.