Novilunar

Novilunar

Tonight there gleams a mirrored stage,
emblazoned by the words from page
taken from the minds of sayers,
enacted, costumed, mimed by players.

They flitter through the plays in prance,
and make tragedy by the romance
masks they wear- and masks they are;
so long as they stay viewed afar.

Then curtain call and flashy bows,
to honor windy talk from windy mouths
that cloud their game, so thick to choke,
to feel of flame- the dream of smoke.

They spoke, and soak in applause
till watchers thrash, to pause
outside and gasp at cooler air,
then gaze above, fixed to stare

The sky of stars like scattered runes,
dominated by a purple moon.