we are our
own light
in darkness that
does not belong
to us
but that is us
a waiting absence
spent belonging to it
despite the short
and suffocating time
we moved beyond
to create
to make
to delight
*
her arms tied
at the elbows like
meat netted in plastic
or a puppet whose strings
are as tangled as
the hands above
which are trying to figure out
why they are doing
when it is easier to rest
stay still
and allow her to do all
the work on top of me
like the carpenter
before the wood
the painter
before the toy
the audience
before the act
shuffling
sitting
eating until the show
begins with other shows
going on elsewhere
because so few attendees
ever come back
and her arms let go
from each other
from me
from all i can show her
of myself,
a ventriloquist without
a puppet
who doesn’t even
last the whole night
Mizpellt wurdz 
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