The Shadow's Objectless Dream

Born from a sun that draws its borders,
a mute veil, faithful to all forms.
The shadow, companion nailed to your pace,
asks no space, weaves no reforms.

But there is an instant, between twilight and gloom,
when the fibers unravel the contour,
and the black slips from its tired yoke,
a free breath, beyond your return.

Then it dances a waltz without body,
on ethereal planes of pure absence,
it invents skies with no support at all,
nourished only by its own essence.

Then the light reclaims its solemn vow,
and the shadow returns, form and bond.
But carrying engraved, a silent feeling:
of having been a dream, beyond its calling.