In great men’s
houses you must thread your way
Through files of menials, who pass your name
Like a watchword, till the Man of Figure
Commits you finally to the Man of Fame.
“ ...may be pieced up again.” Your breath
Was full of butterflies. The curtains closed again.
Behind you, nothing. An empty moment. Boast
That zero, boast your shadow left a stain—
You, scorched star, Blind Jane, my lady accomplice
Dazzling on the balcony. But you died:
A live wire, a little heaven of rouge—
No, nothing was too much for my child bride.
Through files of menials, who pass your name
Like a watchword, till the Man of Figure
Commits you finally to the Man of Fame.
“ ...may be pieced up again.” Your breath
Was full of butterflies. The curtains closed again.
Behind you, nothing. An empty moment. Boast
That zero, boast your shadow left a stain—
You, scorched star, Blind Jane, my lady accomplice
Dazzling on the balcony. But you died:
A live wire, a little heaven of rouge—
No, nothing was too much for my child bride.
