It was only a moment coming round.
Bowled over, on the Terrace.
And then she got mad, got gone –
and he eloped with his pen –
witch! Falcon Ace! –
of which he was deeply fond.
Some said he drowned.
Someone – a siren cantatrice –
mare of the night, see –
might rob his rich rhyme
of all reason. . . sometime.
What will be, will be.
Repentance is all.
The lights went up inside, then outside,
then the stars came out and rewarded everyone
with a regular astrolabe – 'Swounds!
How elegant, my dear malady! – So rude.
It was the story of a lifetime, I'd say,
said someone. Anonymous was an Indian?
Another. Anyone for quoits? Nines?
I'll pass over the water, thanks. – I'll say!
The crowd left, and you still there, your eyes
on me – I was too anxious to enjoy.
Life, love, that's what I say,
said Bloom. Flowers and dies and. . .
summer sun on the glinting flow. Thames
time stems the last of the season;
the words gather in my heart. . . run, run!
So they rose and ran (evening whispering flame).
5.26.97 (Memorial Day)
Gondolas in Providence River