ENTER PIERROT, LAUGHING
dusk falls in sepia tones
as it always does in the vintage photographs
but pierrot is a complex subject even so
is he laughing or crying
will you ever know the pinwheel effusions of his summer epochs
his heart that sows white rosebuds
seen from the distance you are sure his smile is real
on closer inspection, what does he really feel
no daguerreotype will ever reveal
is it the sun after rain or the other way round
a hopscotch falling to the ground
a lamentarion of coloured chalks or in pastels
is he feeling very well
he’s out for a walk in infinity
with the beau geste
and his silken shoes on the moon’s crest
or a quaking wire…
what was it you aspired to
a long time ago I played La Polichinelle on the piano
no one would believe it now
how I paint in imagination, memory’s gallery
his mauve bright tears
the small smile of redacted years
his penny bright forays…
perceptive angels, do what you must
guard his tremors, cherish his dust
I cannot find him.
mary angela douglas 1 april 2021;2 april 2021;23 june 2022;24 august 2022
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