The Centre

The bulb catches first
in the haze beneath the beams,
then in the lapels
of the pale suit.

The rest of the room
comes by fragments:
a wrist, a shoulder,
the square face of a phone,
a white flare held
above a dark sleeve.

At the centre,
the figure does nothing
that can be proved
except stand.

Yet each raised screen
builds its own small room:
light at the throat,
hands at the sides,
the blackness gathered
just beyond the frame.

No one in the image
has been given a name.
No sound has crossed
the distance.

Still, the bulb keeps falling
from the ceiling
without touching the floor;
still the figure remains
in the room
the screens have left behind.