The day seemed suddenly to give to black-&-white
The falcon tearing at the glove
Clare yanking down the hood over its banked eyes
& handing the bird
Its body still rippling & shuddering & flecked
Here or there with blood
to her son Louis
& as we walked back up the overgrown stone trail
To the castle now in the public trust
For tax reasons she admitted
Supposing one more turn in the grave couldn’t harm
Her father the Count much at this point anyway
Though she flew his favorite red flag
From one of the towers every year
To mark the anniversary of his death
& though her beauty had acquired the sunken
Sheen of a ship’s figurehead lifted
From the clear Mediterranean
As she walked ahead of me in her high chocolate boots
I could think only of her body still muscled like a
Snake’s & how she lay sprawled last night
Naked on the blue tiles of the bathroom floor
& as I stepped into the doorway
I could see the bathtub speckled with vomit
The syringe still hanging limply from a vein in her
Thigh & she was swearing
As she grasped for the glass vial
That had rolled out of reach behind the toilet
Then she had it
Drawing herself up slowly as she
Turned her body slightly to look up at me
& she said nothing
Simply waiting until I turned & walked away
The door closing with its soft collapse
Behind me
now over lunch on the terrace
I pin a small sprig of parsley to her jacket lapel
A kind of truce a soldier’s decoration
& above us the sun drags the day toward its meridian
Of heat & red wine & circumstance from which
We can neither look back nor step ever
Visibly beyond yet as we
Look at each other in the brash eclipsing glare
We know what bridging silence to respect
Now that neither of us has the heart to care