Outside, the stars are falling
            Like pebbles in a well, mountains
            Sifting like salt in the hissing sea.
            The dark is near, hell is closer still,
            But inside the private theater, velvet
            Seats tip back like branches in
            A breeze, the air is sweet, and
            Starlight fills my eyes. I'm content
            To sit forever if need be,
            I'm waiting for the movie.

            A melody sweeps over the screen
            Breathing the slow consolation
            Of passions building to a rehearsed,
            Familiar crescendo. A girl I've known
            From childhood, or before, sings
            Sweetly of the storm that will dynamite
            Her home and fling her over the rainbow.
            I can see in her eyes, she knows
            It's not the end of the world.

            The worst is over well before a light
            From an open door burst a vessel
            In her angelic sorrow, and she sinks
            Softly into the apparatus of another role:
            Gossamer wings, flowing skirts,
            And tinsel confetti of the wish
            Never to know what happens, really.
            Nothing happens in the movies.
            An old friend cradles a drink,
            His lover takes a seat, and others.


Copyright © Christopher Moylan, 2005. All Rights Reserved.