The Shadows 

of Things Unseen

The night arrives
always in reverse,

and with it 

dreams 

like undeveloped negatives

in a space reserved for shadows.

These shadows 

relive our lives

in spite of any

lack of light.

In fact,

they need our light

to remember their purpose.

Otherwise they go on

despite us, without consent,

without consideration,

autistic phantoms

with no sense of scale

or discretion.

They’ve no qualms 

in dragging us by the hair

into danger,

into embarrassments,

into shame, into longing…

They never think twice.

They always come 

after the facts;

facts they won’t hesitate 

to use against you.

Can you understand me

if I say your light source

both casts them out

as deftly as
it brings them down,

their vividness

in proportion to

your own luminosity.

But here’s the catch:

Your joy is their misery

and vice versa. Why?

Because intensity

and contrast

is how they 

take their measure.

They view us as perpetrators

because we so often 

are trying to un-live them.

Dreams are their way

of getting even.

In their neck of the woods

your name 

has no power

to describe you.

You cannot ignore 

their existence

and get away with it.

You may not even be aware

or remember how your life

is nightly being appropriated.

The only thing you can do

is wake up, 

but your waking

is hardly an end

 to their dominion.

They find their way 

back to you

as they live in 

perpetual disregard.

They don’t need your

acknowledgement,

let alone your approval.

Your helplessness 

enables their control.

Your unconsciousness is their Globe,

a stage to enact 

their occasionally

degrading dramas.

You are their hostage,

as are your friends and family.

They always enter 

by doubling back.

They push you out 

into a full fledged production,

with no lines, no costume,

not even a proper contract.

They have their way with you

without the slightest consideration

as you are 

their unlikely star.

Despite this, your fame 

doesn't go to your head

because there is never

an audience

to approve or disapprove

of the production

unless they’re 

meant to be

part of the play.

Tonight, you find yourself

making love to the enemy

for secret documents

despite the fact that

no information can save you.

Anything without 

emotional resonance 

is considered detritus.

Only so much muck.

Did I say that

belongings have no agency

unless they’ve been
designated as props?

Your wardrobe is often your own

and only meaningful in so far

as it reveals your vanity.

If every night is the lifespan

of their last day,

then ask yourself:

Who are they?

Peter Valentyne

September 1st, 2019