She wears him as he’s instructed,
but not all of her has made the cut.
Ribbons of a spirit
defying her good cause,
of a yearning neither can abide,
lie in a pile off to his side;
a black flower, domestic eruption,
potent and driving,
bruises her celluloid frame,
No words, no anxious assertions,
and no amount of directorial force
can erase the stain,
the sidelong grimace,
at the heart of his dream.
Only a silent contest between the two
each blind to the victory of the Other
where life-exceeding insists
to the vanity of his craft.