(6th of July 2024, Sandler's Wells)
you perform your best stunts
the woman in the front row
withholds smiles
close enough to see your fingers curling
on the edge of that next straw hat
you briefly caught and released
not close enough to smell the sweat
streaming underneath the shimmering leotard
contortionists sinew
with a pirouette, the acrobats
conceal that moment
when they have stepped into the wings
and the masks come off
arms relax
they don't owe us their true faces or their slumped torsos
this is not a ticket to their souls
later I see you at the edge of the stalls
folded under a metal ladder
in your black cloak of anonymity
to your audience
you exist only in a pool of light
crossing the fourth wall
my eyes search out yours
I want you to know that
I have spotted you
my watchfulness separates me from
those who look but cannot see
in my world, I move like a film
but my audience only sees in snapshots
they want to see you teeter
but they don't want to see you fall - they say
sometimes I make a gesture
as if I am laying down a sharp sword
like I could fight with my bare hands
or not fight at all
when you stepped out of the limelight
you gave up on the applause
has the audience left
or will there be another curtain call
in this auditorium and at funerals
I am always sat on the last pew
they sing
lord of hopefulness, lord of joy
but I'm outside, following a child
amongst the graves
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