At night it secretly crept
into the village streets
while the villagers slept
moved along lamp posts from shadow
to shadow seemingly to hide
from the town’s cries or blows.
Each morning its harm
could be seen
in fur or feathers or torn
trash bags. Night after night
it moved about
hugging shadows behind lights
till early one morning, before
the day warmed, when a puddle of hair
was found (where tourist cars
on a busy road sped by)
so mangled and smudged on the tarmac
that no one dared flippantly say
this was the one who had,
unwittingly, found, after so many tries,
at last the ultimate shadow in which to hide.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem