Three Poems

Late in the day holds
The worst moments
Of realizing you’d
Lived most of your
Life as a living cliché.

Embracing what's never
been, like holding rain
in a downpour.

Backstage I noticed how
small he was, how slight
that withered hand was
shaking mine. On stage
he looked miniscule,
a tiny shadow crunched
up in bright light. Then he
brought forth the music
and a giant whipped the sky.