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Poetry of Issue #8        Page 51

Worn Fabric

My shadow startled me,
as it snuck up, as I supposed,
under a pale and unconcerned light

as if my misdeeds and mistakes
were returning after having
lost my spoor in the travail

of moving time, motley crowds,
and my diverging conditions of life
that left room for confusion

and maneuver in the ensuing
tumult—easy to grab my coat
and get out—give the shade

the slip. But, of course, it came back
after having never left. I mistook
it for that coat I half-threw across

my shoulders so carried it all
these years without a weighty thought
about those ancient ruins I had wrought.

  John Zedolik