Illusionist

If you find a dove in the sand,
don't kill it.
Its wings are bent, and yet
how many miles can it still fly... It escaped from me, you see,
and on its way back home to you
it fell.
A mage I am,
the forged man told me,
and I could see his covered hand.
      - The coast is dry, there are no tides,
        the dove can surely still fly.
The bird's elusive,
he said to me,
its feathers swelling with the sea.
You cannot see, but with its eyes
I could paint it a disguise,
I could fly it far away,
and make it laugh
a different pain.
You cannot see, but it's no lie,
the moon knows the sea to hide,
so let it here, lying
on the blue-ing shore,
for this is my last curtain call.
      - Leave it here? Leave it die?
        Who does that - let doves cry?
Look, a mirror, conceive it
and forget the mist of changeling,
forget your eyes just
for a moment, believe
the game, for I've no name
to share and claim
and tell you why,
believe,
and then no dove shall cry.
      - Leave the light on
        in the middle of an empty stage;
        Then I'll know.