My Shadow

I am never alive but always moving
lie flat, slide across the grass
stretch and bend
and crane my neck
I have hands that reach but never feel
eyes that watch but never tell
a mouth that opens but never speaks
ears that listen but never hear
the wind howls through
a green breeze rustling the leaves
I am my shadow
a whisper amongst the dark
on the mossy floor but I can never touch
like the sun in the dark I cannot reach
like all the stars had fallen
and landed in my empty sky.

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This poem was highly commended for Poetry Object 2013

Judge's notes:
A shadow is a puzzling kind of object—an absence of light that can’t directly touch or affect anything, and is entirely dependent of the object that casts it. This poem adopts the point of view of a shadow, using negative clauses to capture the paradoxical idea of a shadow as an absence. The character of the shadow can be either appreciated in its own right, or seen as a metaphor for loneliness.

~ Rachael Briggs, Judge, Poetry Object 2013