Torch Song

Disappear, black headdress with
red smears, polka-dotted circles
around the towns we flee from.

When the realization comes, you’ll
first notice the music ends–black
tutu with sequin lips, next. All

of the birds vanish, leaving us
to wonder how her lips move,
such chatter. I thought the blue

silk with white feathers would
keep us alive despite the notion
we are armless… pretending our

hands are guided by something
not us, some wooden mask
allowing us to hide, or fight. Waving

goodbye, hands of a robber,
or a mime, or some mirage we
knew was there. All you need

to break the spell is a mantle
of candles then escape through
the limestone to raised palms.

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