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.
