Shape Shifter

Ever shape shifter,
I cannot see the dream of you.
One will go while the other will stay.
Your face changes at a whim,
an image sliding in and out of doors,
no cinder can hold your frame.
You may arrive tattered,
dancing in the gypsy theater
before moving into shadow,
reappearing in denim or nylon,
fading just as quickly.
There is no tangible shape
just as there is no stop
to the cold between shifting.