You're shadowing Kafka . . . with pointe shoes
spinning . . . spiraling . . .
into the tremendous world
inside his head
then it's on to the drone
with the speed of a grizzly
surrounded by white . . .
but not whose woods these are . . .
the plaintiff continuing despite admonitions
with someone alleging misappropriation . . .
Again, the unbearable lightness
before the conductor
raises her baton to begin
reeling-in the orchestra . . .
letting them know
where she wants them to go . . .
giving the impression
they're behind the beat . . .
But they know . . . yes, they know . . .
not unlike the time you waded into the water . . .
baptismally, perhaps? . . .
quoting Gilgamesh
the unbearable heaviness . . .
the emptiness of the endgame . . . moving . . .
wait, not moving, no longer . . .
A matinee . . . but not . . .
flip it . . . to a rendering of the terrain . . .
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| Leila Forés |