I think I did this
yesterday
sitting waiting for
the
light to fade away.
Yet maybe this is not
what I did that last day
maybe I was made
myriad in a silver mirror. Nakedness and skin sloughed off.
In the silver mirror
beside me a thousand deeds of history books.
My actors’ mien
lost when the
spotlight lets me pause
in spotlight
darkness
invisible I slope
off stage left
wrapped again in a fast
change in the thespians uniform
all this I saw behind
sunglasses, those things in a silver mirror
that might have been
and probably was.
The actor slips a little
back into time, when his makeup was a different hue,
but that was yesterday
and he wipes lipstick off his rubber lips.
I think, maybe the
last of the days dance light, a waft of evening chill through the TV window.
Yes, I’m sure, I
waited here all day, learning a new part. Like yesterday. Like yesterday-
and then the sun
ascends and lights the cornfield where young life plays.
The fickleness of the Seasons
The Summer aged
leaves lie
upon the green, so
soon as autumn’s greed piles at my door
Lost and orphaned the
two trees beyond Winter’s freeze all left skeletal and
held there by an unhurried
winter storm.
Too soon, so soon the
trees greet the Spring and sleep in reckless
night filled day.
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