the shadows sing, and interlace
within, around this grateful place;
compassion sits in angled dark,
in whispers soft and palate stark

instinctively, reflexively,
in actions spun by sophistry,
in tunic, or chemise, or sark -
the cloth we choose: our sign, our mark --

and still, despite our reticence,
those shadows - guilt and innocence -
will kiss and cross the floor, in light,
and evanesce like what is right

for we are trapped within our dreams
in forests brushed by mountain streams,
to triumph, or, to rue disgrace --
as shadows sing,
and interlace