Stage Wings

Ronald Levao

A single flash reveals the fear
Of actors in coarse black.
For what the play when old hair buttocks
Be seen and sitting on the varnished bench?

Can hoods and keys hid egg-shell plaster skulls
Dust-crumbling, from a head weaving patterns
through the covering of time and space?

These shabby games fool not burlap 
Eyes of pearl that have been drowned
In waves of silk and clouds of lace.