Outdoing The Moon

Outdoing The Moon

Walking from the theater, the wet asphalt glistening
under our shadows preceding and receding, streetlamps
outdoing the moon. You, waving that persistent cabbie
on – there are others, needier than us Ishmael. Find them,
and God be with you – spoken in faux bigotry only I heard.

You are someone always on stage, yet never. Being
more than a self, the star opts for understudy, or prompter.
The person that draws, closes the curtain. How lovely
to walk beside you and know who you really are, this night.
This damp, glorious encore. Not an opening scene, but a bow.

I refer to the light now falling from the hotel window, onto
your sleeping face. Earlier, when Gavroche was shot
you reached over, and catching my tears, ate them --
Never once taking your eyes from the stage, nor caring
that I saw it all -- How then, am I now supposed to sleep?

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2009