Expecting

I need to make new friend. Or remember old ones. This stale leotard still clings to my skin. Dance I do. But gracelessly. As the hours overflow the stages I've kept for them.

I need so many things. Most of which I'll never even attempt to have.

The lens focuses, but the shutter refuses.

Life crawling like photographs through the exposure of my blood.

I'd like to know what's become of them. The wither of their winter. The chargrin of their summer.

I'd like to be the cold despot who tells them what page to turn next.

But I'll settle for a footnote.