Shadows Poem by Mark Heathcote

What is the size of a shadow?
Itself projecting - quadrupling its sinister size.
At close quarters, who knows?
It could be likewise a sea monster-
said an old, warty sage in prose.
Why-it's a serpent—something to conjure
up and swallow you down whole!
Cogent! —under your hammock bed,
Worm-like! Said a disparaging vole!
So what's to be done?
For an independent measurement, then.
Well, use what you have in your nose.
Little child—then, take a long-
introspective, look inside, and then:
Try and decide.
Just as sleep closes our eyes.
What's this void of awesomeness?
Nothing..? What's random about emptiness?
This vacuum's inner movement in space?
In full perceptiveness,
prescribed to our inner sleeping eyes?
Is it ever awake, or is it a dream?
No bigger or smaller than a shadow.
Appearing and disappearing
Why do your eyes remind me of the universe?
Having just exploded with an outer-ring
of darkness-
and a heart still filled with stunning blackness.
What is this opaque whiteness?
This invisible, indivisible glue that surrounds us
who is it in those shadows, watchful of me and you?