He waits for me, threadbare on the costume
rack, lifeless in the bustle of fabrics.
I stand alone on the edge of a world:
a clean-cut cliff-edge above darkness - but
he is there in the mist... I seep myself
in the sweat of the lights, I breathe the dust
between thoughts. Air hangs heavy, laughter spreads
in a wave of tremors, dust hovers in
angel beams... then back to a midnight of
secrets and wires, the re-absorption of
shadow and pulse. Is this body alive?