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"The Shadow’s Companion"

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,  

darting along the skirting as though racing the morning,

slipping past chair‑legs with a quick, playful certainty,

as if the whole house were a field it already knows by heart.

A small figure lingers by the doorway,

And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.  

Yet he keeps close, as though the day has set him a secret errand,

following even when I try to step lightly past the light.

The room stretches him thin across the floorboards,

a companion shaped by whatever the lamp suggests,

He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;  

a likeness that flickers into being whenever I turn.

Evening settles around the furniture,

the last of the daylight dwindling at the sill,

my steps softening as the room settles,

And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed.

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