Shadows do not play
But flat lay along the street
Or bar their way obliquely across a path
Like blades black but not the blackest,
Not the sharpest, and yet this play
Is beauty where the thinnest line
Reflecting pole by pole
Points away from the light
That smarts the eyes or seems soft
Along the edges
like lashes on the eye.

Where a bright glass is sharp:
Along each side is drawn a curtain
Whose lace-edge is a net for the light--
By the blade of black edge it seems less bright.