THE CURTAIN

A life spent on stage

acting and directing

is now holed up

in a hospice ward

swaddled in dementia,

cradled by cancer.

A curtain

divides the room.

This veil between,

this undulation of light,

enraptures the man

and has him pointing,

 as if to say:

There, on the other side, is

where my next play

takes place.

His arm, getting heavy,

falters, falls.

His lids bow

to the curtain.

Eyes close

to dream.

This thespian life,

more and more each day,

 gives sway

to Silence’s soliloquy 

and rounds

itself to Sleep.