She came walking out of a stage’s
painted woods, interrupted my
monologue; disturbed my thoughts;
I paused, as concentrating, before
delivering my last dramatic lines.

From the prompter’s box flew
the fated stormbird, Love; my
defence crumbled, words lost
meaning, mere dust in cracks
in floorboards.

Turned my back to the audience,
and limelight, walked with her
back into the grove where love is
a dark secret that promises nothing
but tormented remorse.