ENTER PIERROT, LAUGHING
dusk falls in sepia tones
as it always does in the vintage photographs
but pierrot is a complex subject, even so,
fragile as a sifting snow
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 lamentation of coloured chalks
or in pastels,
is he feeling very well.
he’s out for a walk in infinity
in the beau geste you remember best
in carnival slippers on the moon’s crest
or quivering on a quaking wire…
the crowd to please his one desire
what was it you aspired to..
a long time ago I played La Polichinelle on the piano
was
translated into
I only paint his mauve bright tears
his small smile of redacted fears
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;18 june 2024
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