In the hours before the hard cold night
at the edge of what we see
in the shadows of the twillight
a tiny mouse runs away from all
fliting from shadow to shadow lest he be seen
quiet as if pursued
he dashes only when he sees no movement
always afraid of the light
and the shadow he dances between them
never sure to which he belongs.
Who seeks the mouse
the shadow warrior that does not fight.
Only the night
and the neighbors cat
leaving only a memory
of the shape shifter
moving from shadow to shadow.
And night falls.