Whole lilies like suns above the theater

Before him she has only been written on paper
and he is the savior who is taking her out.
He sees a sprout of beauty at the height of her hips.
Says it’s her daughter looking out of her future mist,
you already are in the blue shadow of her grip.
A ballerina in her music box driven by moonlight.  

Theater is just the same old lucid dream birds play.
The lilies floating in the pond
and the songs they catch from beyond.
Actors catching codes from an emblazoned
heavenly body. Flying mammals

looking whole about something
that got torn into pieces
is what the director calls Metamorphosis.