Sir Shadow

Sir shadow, you drunk
Sir Shadow, you mean
and crazy man
Sir Shadow, you hopeless shoe lacer
you angry defacer
Sir Shadow of mine
you black valentine
swing from the wing with a ghosty divine
Sir Shadow, you hopeless
reminder of loss
comic trickster of heaven
Byzantium’s loss is
a place where nothing of import
gives into dull hymns
or nudged the sweet need of sorts
Sir Shadow, it’s now

in the cinnamon dark

when I drink to the owl

to the falcon, the lark

and the music still hovers

like a family of sorts

Sir Shadow, the sum of 

my disparate parts

gets childy and needy and

begs for the stars

the  way to lace upward

the wayfaring boot

send me on to the place

and dig me my root