These solitary scaffolds are lousy with shadows
I play with the shadow puppets
On the fields of purple velvet and hardwood below
The dancers twirl
The sopranos inhale delicate arias
The actors gesticulate wildly
All under my voyeuristic glow but just beyond my grasp
The air up here is thin as milk,
And black as pitch behind the light
And I feel as omnipotent
And lonesome
As Jesus Christ
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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