Ode to Jacqueline


He did not know his threshold was a woman
The afterword, when boundaries
Flared like the settling of silver-spun swans
He imaged he’d kiss that neck
A thousand times, not simply once

She has been the road
Open before him
The editor of his most ardent obsession!
He did not know in her mischief
Resounded such a caressing doom

Souvenirs of her lost forever
In her departing scurry of wild rabbits
In the great silent epoch of meeting lives
He did not know she would send him trembling
With the insanity of not being a hero

Like a funeral procession of what could have been
And the flowers on the floor, white lilies
How she peered at herself in the mirror
And snarled a cartoon phrase of self-mockery.

May 16, 2013.