Mystery Drama

The Goetheanum

For twelve weeks,
twelve long weeks Maria,
I dripped with sweat
beneath the colours
of world evolution
on this stage of
utter loneliness,
we the stage hands
(b├╝hnen helfers)
scurried like church
mice at the altar
of your becoming,
you never spoke to me,
but memory will never
let you go, having seen
your art, your mastery,
when from the wings,
in hushed shadows
I watched you,
as if you softly breathed
another soul into you,
my body shivered in awe,
seeing you become
someone else.