Shadowman

the shadowman is hiding
from dark to dark he moves
talking to his conscience
to see if it approves
he silvers every outthrust palm
he soothes each ragged ache
his problems all are obsolete
his visions all opaque

the shadowman is hiding
between me and the sun
when things get rough and ugly
he lets his idylls run
he dreams of panorama
and the dark side of the moon
his fantasies are intricate
and always end too soon

1977
On working the midnight shift