AT THE END OF THAT LONG WINTER

which stretched into July

all the cellars in Europe

filled with blood

burning airplanes

queued for takeoff

abandoned ships ran aground

while a nurse in Belgrade

and a soldier in Madrid

dreamed the same dream

of Jupiter’s moons

mountains sixty miles high

oceans of gasoline

hurricanes whirling

at the speed of sound

Today the remains

of a film poster

from that time

surfaced on the mottled wall

of a gutted building —

the title Death Cruise

traced in smoke

above a girl in red

leaning against a palm

her fishhook earrings

baited with roses

her jet hair whitening

before our eyes