Poezja

There were five of us
who spoke together
after our shielded reading
during a partial sax recital
when time came to a stop
and were translated
to passing glances
in a memorial of the Beats
on a free wielding
rush of our words
by keeping
the lamp burning
at my dancing verse
out in a changing season
of a strong voice 
aiming at 
swaying at your cool
flirting audience
suddenly inescapable silence
as if to say,
we are taking off 
in our night shirts.