we were late
the gathering had already begun
a solemn voice recited
his stories
his words
became ours
among whitened walls
behind him were instruments
quiet like us
anxiously waiting
unfamiliar with house
rituals
he finished and we applauded
along with the faces
captured on canvas
and hung with nails
on the walls
The next voice was a woman
she spoke in verse
free, blank,
only slightly
ordered
but sensual
inviting
inside and beyond
our faces
her voice
her body
reflected in the windows
and we were invited
to eat and drink upstairs
that night
with words
and faces surrounding us
voices and music
a strange lady
performing
mostly to herself
but everything
telling more stories
for us to contemplate
until next time