Otsenre Ogaitnas*

On your doorstep once stood
This shadow thinner than clotheslines, just to
Share the verdant lore of its earthly existence
Even if its image was molded from the grains of salt
Nonetheless, it has the proverbial taste for a
Real kinship with all life, as seen in its creative
Expression, somewhat like a sort of written text

Of its tiny palms, sod with
Great charm of nobility, and yet you’ve curved
At the back of its head these doubts, which made
Itself to huddle in solitude, entertaining
The alarming phrases of inferiority that
Nature never taught us
Ah, now I am slaving myself thinking if this
Shadow is still really mine, or am I still his?

* from “The Poet Who Asked Τhe Birds How To Fly”

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