The Mimes

Silken light on the tips of the swan’s wings,
Old, grey eyes turned to a horizon;
Another time perhaps in a cold year.
Tonight, I go to see the mimes,
With homes on their backs:
Unseen walls closing in now in time.
Switch around to the unknown ghost’s plane
Onlookers have no strength left to view.

No tears shed for the wanderers in their eyes,
Day’s like today come once in a life such as mine.
I’ve waited hours to witness tomorrow’s years.
Lampposts guide—gold haloes in winter fog:
Angels or candles, though the snow is deserted
Save by lilies, blushing in frost,
Never alone with the walls that follow:
Faces or voices, felt by the few.

Tell me what you see.
Is it real or in my mind?
Cut me into the crystal
And burn my remains
As if they might fall with…

Raindrops between sheets of ice from grey skies;
Aurora bright in a churchyard of lanterns.
I don’t see anything which could be mine.
I wedded death with a look to my story
And in the waters, learned to breathe.
No more rays; no more nights or days.
Never cry as I walk without motion
With the mimes inside the walls.

© 2020 Marten Hoyle