Doll Maker

a murky profile
in the window; lamp light glares against yellowish curtains
jerks forward, swings round
bends again
dumb shadow, stranger to all
you sit beyond midnight, sewing dolls
look, your friend, your confidant - the moon
is rising
shred by shred, pattern by pattern
day after day
each doll is always different; her expressions vary
as if alive -
hairdos, clothing, everything, yes everything
suits a social position, a class
only, does anyone need her?
will anyone deliver her
into out-stretched hands, will anyone's heart
beat faster, from joy
you seat Piero by the mirror -
sad, pale, in shiny satin
clothing, you move towards the window
to talk with the moon
to complain, to seek comfort:
- each one of them
carries away a scrap
of my soul