Dark laughter behind clouds,
blades of lightning—movie weather.
Ella and I try the samurai flick
that last Saturday sold out.
Okinawan tapdance, blood—it’s good,
but Ella has to look at me to tell.
Worse, she’s the only girl I know
who can’t whisper—the whole theater
turns when she asks how was my day.
Then, I can’t say how I feel,
and the audience has surrendered
to the spectacle, and I’m afraid
she’s on her way to caring about “us”—
eyes gleaming like swords
in the projected light. The reel
continues to unfurl the tale
of a blind master who must take
his revenge in the gambling house,
in the brothel, on the beach.
Only at the end does he reveal
he sees as well as anyone.
Then, outside kissing in the parking lot,
eyes shut, I step back and tell Ella
I can’t see her anymore.