Two-Headed Song by Andrew Nance

My slave shines brightest 
midday, during the close 
of matinees: the bled out, 
over-tan remains onto which 
stage-fright figures us. 
My slave holds out. Gives up.
An overzealous rain, sun 
dropping into lane after 
living lane. Light lands 
on motion, & stalls: a radial 
singe, an air-conditioned 
scent: my slave signs-in.
He prefigures every frame 
of face, each incline, each 
contortion looking in 
for a way out. I know I can 
lock him away, I know 
I can bind & cease 
to beckon. Cease declaring: 
here, as needed. Yet he’ll 
never come any closer, skip
out of line of what he
arranges, designs in the
soft afternoon flicker, in 
the last light of day, when 
suspicion decreases 
one’s rate of change. He 
pushes darkness back 
& one is empty. One is 
pleasantly empty & sincere.