Into the Walled Garden
A boy sits on a stage,
the words he delivers rising clea rly.
He is bathed in yellow filtered spotlights.
Drifts of lazy s moke catch the beam
as it widens, encircling the boy,
whose knees are drawn up to his chin.
He rests his back against a steel fra me .
At the periphery of my vision, I see a man,
standing perfectly still, wa xed and pallid,
balancing upon the Circ le balustrade.
The brass rail glea ms a long its forwa rd edge,
reflecting the lights fro m the stage.
I cannot see colours, just his plain shape.
His arms hang straight down by his side,
and his gaze is fixed and forward.
The boy speaks of simple things,
of quiet home where order lay.
The light filters white…
Angel raises his arms above his head,
languid, mercury flowing in glass,
and flawless in liquid e xecution,
he moves his arms to the perpendicular
and lets his body drift down on simple grav ity,
pivoting forward on his feet as if d iving
into the dead-calm pool of the stalls.
The spotlight cuts to black.
Bodies in shadow take new positions on the stage.
People fidget and cough.
Hand carved slate rises fro m deep-set flagstones.
Low lights burn, barrelling shadows under vaults
and pointed arches, carve edged and keyed.