We streak across the stage pursuing stasis,
which, although it stands still, we do not catch.
We stride and skulk, scale props. We speak of mazes,
as if our words were more than breaths we snatch
from winds that waft us nearer to the wings.
The stage boards wear, but it is we who splinter.
Each spotlight shadow takes a bow, and brings
us one step nearer to our personal winter.