Shadows

The river swirls with shadows

On this bright day in spring,

Shadows twisted out of shape

By currents or fish

Or even the ducks

That swim to shore to feed

Or even when the wind blows

And leaves float down

Or the branches

The branches mirror stir,

Shadows aching to be trees

To grow high and strong

To sink down deep roots

Shadows mocked by movement

Never more than shallow

Imitations of those they ache to be,

Rising and falling

With tides they cannot control,

Battered by cloud bursts

Struggling not to fade

There but not there

Real and yet unreal

Strong yet not strong enough,

Aching for the day

When they can be real

Trees and not fade away