A lone standing lamp casts
a golden glow on the boards, lighting
the darkness of mid-stage.
No shade, but shadows
retreat. Mere safety provision
yet the superstitious insist
it keeps the ghosts at bay
much like that English play never
muttered theater side.
That puddle of warmth staged
far from pit of orchestrated doom
means home and that
the play goes on for darkness
signals the quiet of the unspoken words
when the marquee waits empty.
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