By Simon MacCulloch

Illustrated by Kevin Kihn

Shapes

Something has frightened our shadows away,

Something that comes with the noon-day dark,

But this time stayed.

They jitter, detach and dissolve into air,

Disclosing in going their old, their true shapes,

Amoebically ambivalent.

Now we creep nakedly under the sun,

Wondering what will be taking their place,

Wondering if it will mould to our shape,

Or vice versa.