Poetry / Weakening

At the time of no shadows
When the dusk is dawning
And the dawn is dusting
The horizon
I see the real shadows
That leap across the roads:
The cars
The squirrel
The stagnant corpses
The leaves hopping like frogs.
I swerve, then realize
That the time of no shadows
Is also the time of Imaginative Seeing;
Although, even in the daylight,
I think shoes are dead squirrels,
Shirts are dead cats,
Moss are dead oppossums,
Mailboxes are people bent over
And my glasses
Are useless.