Imprints of my soul follow me,

a numinous presence,

a parade of two.

They’re my peripatetic pals,

fallen stars who follow my lead.

Lanky or short, they’re silhouettes

on the sidewalk under rays

of morning sunbeams.

I won’t go anywhere without them.

Their gait’s familiar, and I’m proud

of how tall they’ve become,

but, they can get an attitude

depending on the angle of the sun.

They’re my doppelganger guards

who can spook a stallion and lose the rider.

Steadfast and loyal as loving brothers,

they hover like the Secret Service

or Jewish mothers, moving in tandem

as only ballroom dancers can.

With no bodies of their own,

they stay close to the warp and woof

of my soul and will always be my friends.

They ease the loneliness of the final dark.