She speaks behind an upraised fan.
Jaundiced eyes betray no secrets
In the vestibule; she regrets
Nothing in the innuendo as she scans
The lower horizon of the arc, a greeting to her lessers,
Or, perhaps, her equals who simply don’t exist;
She does not see me in the crowd; the list
Too great. Her dance card is full as she is confessor
To the many yet no more than in a glance,
Some single word sufficing all but me. I have no questions,
No statement; I own no definitions, no vested suggestions,
Nothing in the abstract, no “others in the cast.”
I cannot linger long in this fine passage blessed
Beyond a reticence to take so little yet
so much more than even she has guessed.
…video frame at top by Sarah Illenberger…