Warmth grows in patches here and there
on the sidewalk where the sun
can trespass; without permission
it arrives in a heap and lies,
splayed out in sections of the grass.
It’s the sun, always the sun,
greedy, a bug wanting to land
its sticky legs on everything.
The buildings won’t stand for
that bullying – they cast a shadow
dark enough the sunlight sulks away,
but when I stand in their shade,
I become the trespasser.
So I move on, on the path
set down for human feet,
and wish I had a way to create
my own darkness, to avoid the hot,
intrusive light that thrills
to run itself up my arms and legs.
Yes, I cast my own shadow,
but it’s always one step behind
and I can’t hide within its outline.
There is nowhere for us to go.
There is only the abuse of the sun
and the invasion of sunless places
that can never truly belong to us.