I look for Shadow in the shadows,

her blue gray fur, bold yellow eyes,

and the scar behind her right ear.

I miss our catnaps on the couch,

her paws kneading my belly,

her face burrowing into mine,

the tickle of her long white whiskers.

I miss her sideways arched-back hop of delight

and how she would ambush us to count coup.

She walks silently through my dreams now

and appears in my periphery,

a sleek, silent, stalking Shadow in the shadows.

When a hawk flies overhead,  

I imagine scraps of Shadow fed its young

who now fledge and plunge into flight.

I hear the owls call in the night, and the rough bark of a fox,

and imagine scraps of Shadow fed their young

who now stretch their great wings to soar,

or scurry into their day beds in the willows.

This morning a coyote near the hay shed

boldly stared at my intrusion. I imagined her belly

full of blue gray Shadow, and her bold-eyed pups

emerging from their den in the dunes,

shadows among shadows.