I think about your shadow on my wall that day when you weren't here, that day when you did not leave a shadow on my wall any more.
And I think about your other shadows, invisible and untouchable, disintegrated, lighted, transparent.
There is a field with flowers in me, where there is no black and white and your shadows dance under the flowers.
It smells like summer there - and like bees making honey, it smells like grass and it smells like the rain is far away.
It smells like a small lizard's light run. It smells like steps.
It smells like crickets singing.
And as the sun is sinking into the water, I finally hear you smiling:
My blue shadow is always here, darling.
Just hiding, that's all.