In the morning,
I pour coffee into my cup.
My shadow grows.
 
The liquid slides down my throat,
And is awakened:
A black, bitter night
Sliding into shape.
 
It lets me carry it around,
Even as the sun
Points me out like a dot
And my shadow learns
Just how much it should be.
 
But when a tired sun
Lies down to rest,
My shadow relaxes,
And grows.
 
Grows so much,
It's a spill on the floor.
 
And then I know how much I am:
The size of darkness,
Spreading.