It is the stage
black
darkness taut
a piano string quivering
in wait of its concerta

a sharp and deliberate empty
warm and welcoming
a wet mouth parted for a
wordless kiss

space
blank
womb
the pre-creation nothing
pregnant with possibility
canvas arching longingly toward brushes
like a lover’s back in rapture

then
the gentle fade to full
like the first command of genesis
lights
hot and honest

we
in stillness
breathing
bathed in simmering zoot suit colors
reds smelling of Sunday swagger
searing saxophone blues

scene

we dance
the language unspoken
hearts pounding ancestral in the silence

brow
lash
tongue
pulsing moment pivots

then
like lightning cracked clouds
voice
spills
recedes and swells
cascades from the edge
into the inkwell open beyond

It is the stage
a vibrant wash
It is sound
soliloquy
overture
every moment full and heavy
plump pomegranate tossed and
bursting on the tongue

we splash the black
with precision
dialogue and pause acrylic
a terse and passionate thrashing
carving legacy ephemeral in the air

eyes locked
sweat
breath

scene

fade
fade
fade
to black

curtain