Sometimes it is the shadow that we see
More clearly than the substance — then the real
Is where the mind and the emotion move
Over our rock and stubble — watch the mark!
Sun’s shadow, if of me, I can control
A little; if I sit, my shadow crouches;
I rise — it answers. If I contemplate,
Back to the sun, this print of quiet me,
I’m the philosopher, flattened.
                                                 Oh, but the sun
Who is the shadow-maker, consummate,
And will allow a play of attitudes,
When I grow rigid in real meditation,
Enviously moves, moves, moves. He pulls my shadow
         down
Into all-shade. He goes, to leave me single.


Substance and shadow, walk the maudlin earth,
And laughter, laughter, laughter, light us down
To the last mimicry and the same doom.