Theatrical Study
Rivers can rise romantically above their
banks
at flood tide, in movies; there may be
women
in shifts in good shape clinging to chimneys.
They are not yet my desire.
Just as I was about to enter.
As she was leaving.
After the party but before sleeping.
Down by the riverside in moonlight.
The story grows more complex over the
years,
ho hum, no others care for this drama.
I was running ahead to save her,
possibly a stitch in time. Nobody cares.
Light as a single tortilla, the damaged
dancer,
south of the border, to have chased her
in the music of mariachis, tripping
under bougainvillea, down Mexico way.
And nobody cares for the politician,
his mother and father, those who were saintly
and taught him the right road: applause
from the audience, tentative. Empty orchestra.
I keep using that term. Is it empty
of singers, conductor, even the instruments?
Nobody cares for the passing years, but
for the movies, those entertainments.
Just as I was about to enter, in Mexico,
she was leaving on her crutches.
After the party but before sleeping together,
tentatively, down by the riverside in moonlight.