Know How To Vanish

Know How To Vanish

Japanese theatre.
Odd it came to my mind,
sat in my kitchen chair,
to all else shuttered and blind.
An art I know nought about.
The actors look and move on stage,
like puppets with no strings,
hid by costumes, masks,
some peer over fans,
so I remember
from an Oriental drama shown on a screen.
Outside my window,
a bird tirelessly sings,
delights, distracts.
If I were a squirrel,
I would live in a pine tree,
hoard and eat nuts,
sleep under leaves,
glare at an owl,
to say in my way,
hoot elsewhere,
in a far off part of the forest,
so I can sleep in peace.
The owl may obey me,
flutter away, to hoot in some other tree.
I would be quick, alert, know how to vanish.

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