PHOTOGRAPHER'S JOURNAL:
Shadow Dance
I retreat further in.
Passages turn
intersect,
hop
building to building.
Each breach
is a fissure of slime
where one hears the tidewater's
angry slap,
and things of the underdock
and their tidal minions
rise and creep,
scamper and leap,
noiselessly rock
in furtive contemplations.
