Shadow work

Violent dreams knocked at my head at night.
Internal blows.

One dream kept returning
I stand in front of a mattress on the street,
but I’m not there
only my shadow,
like someone left to guard the place after everyone is gone.

Not fear.
A cold presence.
A clear sense
that something in me stays alive even when I’m not.

I painted it to get it out of my head
to place it on canvas,
with weight,
with a mark,
with an end.

Transfer.
Let the night find someone else.