The Theatre

ὑποκριτής

Wordless I have found these words
between the Chinese poems and the stars
when shutters lift from the empty stage.

The props are strewn across the boards,
a wooden esplanade in miniature.
Cardboard crowds and my tranquil lover
watch and know the feeble pulse
of a Saturday matinée.

And when I hold my awkward bones
which flail and flag, I carry on
thirsty for your impromptu cameos.

You are the lumen of my dark hour
the dreams of otherness I sought;
you are the statue in the crypt,
my only hope against the script.

Father, I have found this play
between the Latin chants and blesséd wine
I shall always be an actor here,
an immigrant of sorts

So when you come to meet me
make the sacred real,
the last act a penitential rite.