His eyes silver over with tears
In the rich velvet of the empty theater, empty
Except for her, empty
Even next to her, empty
The gossamer beam of the projector,
Casts its sheer pale ray above their heads,
Cutting through the milky blackness
With a full emptiness,
Color condensed into a blank beam,
Like light passing through a prism, it catches only smoke
And the faint dull floatings of dust motes,
And the unspoken words that drift above their heads
Like unwanted children.
Violins swell, and on screen
The leading lady flings herself from a cliff,
Her white skirts fan out like full magnolias,
Failed parachutes billowing impotently in the wind.
Violins swell, and off screen
He stares at her, studies the sheer summit of her profile,
Waits for her to turn, to look at him, but she won’t
Because she knows that if she does
He’ll kiss her.
