When you came into Ithaca
I loaded my gun.
A star fell in a trickle
through a cloudless night. I stumbled
over the fear that the fall had no end,
and that was all…but for the gun.
A fist-full of light held in a clench
of nickel, brass and the like—
I wondered if it be kin to star-fall,
if it bore, in birth, a sigh or a scream,
if the distances wore away its voice
until silence alone marked your return.
The years tumbled down my iron cheeks,
and I danced for my suitors till dawn.