Watermarks.

We change hair style
as our body stretches out
to fill  space beyond itself;
the eyes, a new stare
the stand, a new silhoutte
the moment, a chance
to reach new horizons
escape this body
just even  for one day.

Shakespeare?
Each comedy a variation
of the previous one.
Mistaken identity.
Reversal of roles.
A male not a male.
A sister pretending to be her lost brother.
A poor playing at being rich.
Each escaping the space he occupies.
Each giving the audience hope for the price of the ticket.

We leave marks
with what we do,
the promises we keep
the words we choose
the things we buy.

We scribble on tablets
scratch notes on violins
sounds and signs etched in dark caves
with infinite entrances and exits
declaring
that once
in the fog
you recognized us.