New Back Door

　　Swallow up death in victory

　　Although it still aches,

　　I have realized that death

　　is little more than the swish

　　of thick, maroon stage curtains,

　　rimmed with gold and opened—

　　and closed—with thunderous applause.

　　We wait on both sides of the stage.

　　Some clap and cry and ache from

　　the rambunctious emotions sizzlingStolen novel; please report.

　　from the actors. And as they bow

　　like peasant queens and kings

　　and slip through the veil of skinny fabric,

　　their fellow dancers and bards and prophets

　　applaud them on the other side.

　　Those perched in the stands and seats

　　do not shed tears, even as the great act

　　ends, finishes, dies with the close of night

　　and the opening of a new moon.

　　The acting thieves and mothers,

　　princes and scoundrels, brothers

　　and unrequited lovers, all slip through

　　the swishing back door.

　　I will remember the rush of dazzle

　　and danger, the harmonic love and war,

　　the silent speech of crystal tears

　　hovering in bright, defiant, living eyes.

　　At the close, we all return to home.