Regicide
We harvested so many grapes each day,
Our hands and lips were purpled, stained
The shade of royalty: kings gone away
To die with queens, till rust remained
Of each tarnished throne and crumpled gown.
Inside her bed at night she floated far from me,
And like a knight that tugs a queen’s great gown,
I knew my enemy was brute Eternity,
That crushes kingdoms made of stone or dreams.
She often mentioned autumn—back at school,
Her words like shears, slicing well-stitched seams
Upon the royal tapestry, a cruel
And fitting ending to the fading myth,
Once woven lovingly, now scissored with!
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