The fear is still so real.

I’m sitting here,
       I’m watching you,
             I’m smiling,
but my heart is cold and still.

All these phantoms move around me,
      applauding your bad jokes
             and tricks and ESP.

Nothing touches me
      except your voice,
              the sight of your pale face.

I hide within the laughter,
              waiting --
till we’re alone and you can turn to me
      with sleepy eyes
               and nestle in my arms,
conjuring away the fear,
       warming me with your deft hands
               and the sorcery of love.

My curly-headed magic man.

                                       Rachel Duncan
                                       (3-Il)
                                       1982