Blithe heart

you’re acting strange.

These lovebirds’ Act One phase

with fancy turns of phrase

and brainless rhymes seems artifice

then goes where misdirection

forms a masked ball’s timed

surprise.

They switch their roles

en pointe but degagé,

inhabitants of trumped-up rooms

and flashy peau de soie costumes.

Yet silliness on stage finds

echoes in your space --

a comic sympathy

for scribblers who fail to see,

whose sight is blurred

by diction and cliché.

Cartoons they are; but what we all

may be – dim seekers

in an antic wood, whose love

when puckered masks are dropped

might be for art; might be

a player’s made-up part.