The light behind me
creates a perfect sharp shadow,
of my hands across empty white
sheets of paper resting in my lap.

Cannot draw it,
however hard I try.
Carefully, as to surprise the shadow
I move the pencil-tip
towards the line between
black and white
good and evil.
It alters direction.

Of course it does,
by all laws it must.

Wish I could trick it,
capture the shadow.
Bring it´s constant laughter
to a stop.

The moving shadow
a visual metaphor,
for something I must learn,
but can not accept