From Where Shadows Come

You know the place from where shadows come,
where dreams disappear to each morning,
where pains of phantom limbs twinge,
on a rainy day in winter. You know
the music of each broken drum, of klaxons
screaming out a warning, of violin-like
screech of rusty hinge, on fogbound
days in autumn. You know the million messages
that traverse axons, that travel faster
than a lightning strike, that tell of heat and light
and all that does abound, on sense struck days
in summer. You know the darker place each shadow
presages, each dream suggests is somehow
vaster, each cramping limb drags you to
in fright, on re-awakened days in spring.