Discovering in Familiar Objects the Detailed Retrospectives of Unforeseen Events

The outside is a basket
Of sunlight. The large shadows
Stretch their arms. The small ones dart.

In the middle, one shadow
Sways, like a person standing,
Except there is no person.

The shadow stands detached—look
Up and there’s nothing up there
Interrupting sun falling

Out of the air—not so much
As a condor, jet, or wisp
Of afternoon cloud. The rest

Of the shadows are toddlers,
Whether gigantic or not—
Attached tightly to a source,

Some obstacle to the sun.
But not this one. This shadow
Keeps to itself, peacefully,

Like a tree in a slight breeze,
Or the mast of a tall ship
Barely rocking at anchor.

It has no certain edges.
It has a darker center.
It looks like an umbrella,

Propped in the basket of sun,
But it’s not. It’s a shadow,
And it has to do its job.