RENÉE
1 | 2 | 3
The Entrance
Stagehands whisk, flick, smooth all serene
open doors to a milky sun – hold hands in corners
know that on cue your beauty will stir and stretch
your eyes spark as prompt calls for your entrance
the end of interval – beginning of act two
and here you are my familiar, my black cat,
my lover, a face from the past, not quite placed until
this critical moment when – oh yes – that zigzag
along resistant flesh – your pace slow as dust motes
falling towards the exact spot now I remember
the lines go aah and aah and aah
