The great actor Robert Mitchum was a fellow poet. Here is one of his poems:

The Shadow

The shadow breathes, just as we breathe
in and out
expanding as the spotlight turns
toward us, its false sun highlighting the transient,
feckless features of the body, lifting our
little selves to extraordinary latitudes,
and contracting only as we dare to turn.
To understand.
The intoxications of desire and fear, the sweet
silent surrender of willful stupidity lull us.
We are drawn toward the unreal light,
sentient moths caught in its spell, flying
out of the dark from which
we come, but fear to know.
Too much light. Too little shadow.
Skies without depth of field, flat landscapes
of gaudy flowers, the great mountains
mere cutouts, the sea a blue china plate
on a sunlit wall. Yet we are pleased, and
fat, dumb and happy even unto death, who comes
always toward us
dressed as a shadow
just to keep us afraid.

by Robert Mitchum