Violet Swords

It was a matter of wearing gloves well

while lunching, while conquering Dubrovnik;

of, no one would care how, evading Hell.

Diverse employments made gentlemen tick:

Christmas turkeys; circulating trophies;

pedestal stacked upon pedestal. Today

silence has come to see what no one sees,

it’s always grim at the start of the play.

Fellows, who wait à propos their intros

clawing at the panels, such shrill tigers,

thrive unthreading the hems of the heroes.

Friends of our late friend are minor-leaguers

never to be called up but good as types,

people who will hook bras to the flagpole,

bake chocolate for a gray stranger  ...    She wipes

away red records of the stocks you stole  ...    

Yesterday, books were thrown from the third floor,

out the window, they sank in pairs like shoes,

and I watch violet swords on a white shore,

blade-tip laid across blade-tip, where it snows.