“I’m off duty,” he seemed to say,
As he kicked up his heels and floated away;
The evening turns black -and-white into grey–
He loomed over me, he wavered, shrunk,
Then stretched over the road, and scared a passing drunk.
Then vanished utterly in the dark.
I wonder, does he become a nomad each night,
Untethered to me, free to take flight?
And does he become , on cloudy days,
Part of a giant gestalt haze:
Linking up with others of his shadow-kind–
Leaving us dull mortals behind?