‘Til Eyes 2 avec les Spectres of the Year
January 9, 2011
A pattern dances on the curtain so inconspicuously that I forget its color and structure the instant my eyes leave it. No matter. The ghosts are here, filling my eyes and (accidentally, imagine that) my head.
The two bulbous-nosed rounders laughing and embracing fraternally as they’re showered with halycon celebration and the realization that the frozen moment is the most joyful either may ever experience;
Mom sitting on the steps dreaming of the man who sired the children peppering the weathered wood around her like sentient mushrooms;
The two troubadours, one who only opened his mouth once and the other who laughed off his heart because to not do so would leave the wound in its place gaping and stung by the open air; 
Him, smiling and wealthy but doomed to never want or need to fit;
She with the gorgeous profile, next to the man she’d loved and still danced with once the kisses ran dry;
The Muse of the man whose chaos lived in the rest of the world’s eyes (nothing compared to the one that’s breathed life here);
The younger-than-yesterday girl surrounded by ebony-skinned wraith-angels who had 
no idea she’d join them soon;
…And the last one who reminded me that I wasn’t too old to steal a kiss
sans fidgeting.
