For twelve weeks,
twelve long weeks Maria
I dripped with sweat
beneath the colours
of world evolution
on this stage of
utter loneliness…
we the stage hands,
bühnen helfers
scurried like church
mice at the altar
of your becoming…
you never spoke to me
but memory will never
let you go, having seen
your art, your mastery,
when from the wings
in hushed shadows
I watched you,
mesmerised,
as if you softly breathed
another soul into you,
my body shivered in awe,
seeing you become,
someone else.
GC©17
