languid

I know that
my stage is shoddy
floorboards rotting
yellow feathers dripping from the curtains
dreams caught in the eaves
Turn around!
but Dieu the costumes they are magnifique!

Ashamed that
my eyes are hollow of late
Take my pose away
I want to
write about preachers again,
and Sunday-morning sunlight caught up in the curtains,
Spirits in green leaves,
and sitting in a carriage waiting
over cobblestones past lamp-posts
- for the prince to come?

Thought love would be like
catching snowflakes in warm lamplight
turning a corner and suddenly the colors shift
speaking perfect French without knowing how
and all the question marks,
oh all the question marks
would turn quick into
exclamation points!

shamed I'm scarred of late
"She doesn't trust anyone,
you know."
Whisper winter fingers in my mind
They tell me -
they tell me
nothing
only
lonely
weary thoughts that turn languidly around.

I know that
my age is young and
Am I only practicing?
No ma'am
I think that
I am floundering

I thought I had escaped this theatre
its dust still clings to all my clothes
but darling they are so magnificent