2.

2.

The image was never personal

no one found it somewhere:

Apollo the liar

another loud-mouth god

but the lyre came from Hermes, 

                        the child subtlety 

it’s so important to forget.

Noisy traders 

bartering with the unknown.

I don’t know anything. 

Here’s me not showing you.

This is definitely obscure

because it’s a state of emergency.

The sensible yellow lines 

crossed back over the white:

off-stage,

    where the image is still

being formed;

    the earthly play of your 

burning shape

where the real drama begins.

I fumble for the light switch on my mirror

like the fix of some urgency no one can name.