covered eyes.
the colors changed.
too high.
too low.
a language you don’t know.
he knows the line
but the prompter chocked with a pointed bone,
and is agonizing in his dirty fosse.
the audience sleeps
and dreams of Shakespeare.
between the acts, before the final gong,
commedia dell’arte coiffed and powdered its tangled wig.

now,
he is looking for earrings among the gleamy crinolines.
crawling on the stage’s parquet.
dark luster of the actors’ shoes.
sandals, boots, paws, hoofs and claws.

you and the red fauteuil.
covered eyes.
seeing the colors.
counting.
counting for him: rubber, leather, hair, stone.
too high.
too low.

the play is over.
felts on the star’s shoulders.
no applauses, no ovations.
no final replica.
no middle.

just a timid bis.