Author, Poet, Photographer
We cast pale shadows after death,
Not as before,
A black and changing silhouette
Etched on a solid surface
By the sun,
Or, diffused by friendly light
Within familiar rooms.
We become as sudden air across
A candle flame,
Ephemeral as a single breath,
Rare as rainbows on a
Cloudless day,
Disturbing none, but those who
Loved us for so brief a time.
© James Rainsford