This is an earlier poem, the first poem in this collection.
It's called The Shadow On The Wall.
And the poem is spoken by a shadow,
not in this case, the shadow of any object in particular,
but the shadow of oncoming evening.
The Shadow on the Wall.
At the beginning of my hour the wind falls.
In the thick branch of my dark, the sun howls,
when only light carries the river along, you see me.
Turn three times around, close the left eye only, and I grow.
In tricks of light, I come to live.
Beneath the dark my own dark slides.
I divide upon stones.
I become too many to see.
From what day leaves behind, I have made signs.
Beware the deep woods.
Do not think you are ever alone.
All directions, I give where I stand.
Tree branch reaches out, I am the tree.
And I am the first dream you'll find.
Now on the hill, the color of wind.
Now on the shore, the color of bones, and of rain saying,
I can be anyone you need.