- Primula
Familiar old clothing is drawn on again,
The light warmth of the cloak once more set on my shoulders.
The makeup artists fall into their patterned routine
As if we had never parted.
I look into the lighted mirror,
The same bulb that never worked still out...
My eyes behold a vision of the past,
Alive and breathing with my same quick breaths.
My character enfolds me in his arms,
Is embodied in me. His spirit seems to
Lift out of the written pages again,
Entering my very being.
I am no longer who I was this early morning.
I no longer am at all.