Who walks in the garden with
footsteps soft as milk? Who assures
the flowers they have a future?
Who gathers all the sunlight
and refuses to cast a shadow?
We don’t believe that deities
shame themselves by assuming
human form and devolving
in the gasp of our startled gaze.
We doubt that the summer storms
will leave the flowers unscathed.
Still, that lack of shadow walks
through the shuck of buttercups
and tickles the flaunting hosta.
You want to me speak to it,
challenge its unfocused presence.
You want me to cast my own shadow
where this naked entity prowls.
Let’s step indoors a moment
and allow this bright fog to lift.
Then we can assure each other
we’ve all the mortality we need.
William Doreski lives in Peterborough, New Hampshire. He has taught at several colleges and universities. His most recent book of poetry is Cloud Mountain (2024). His essays, poetry, fiction, and reviews have appeared in many journals.
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