Invisible Man

Invisible Man

Not invisible but transparent:
his presence betrayed
by the glint of the occasional edge
or the small dislocation
his body made passing through
the light; a shift in awareness,
a silence magnified.

The way sometimes, at sunset,
his heart would break
the last ray of the sun, splitting
the blue from the crimson,
staining the dusk with its mood.

After the first crack we knew
it was a matter of time,
the veins of the fault
growing like cancer, flaw
joined to flaw to make
a cobweb of pain—

he hung on a long while—
but shattered, in the end,
into a thousand pieces
so small that even now
I will find one in a corner
gleaming quiet as a star.