When word comes the emperor of the world has died

and lies in state at the old city hall

we join the flock and follow the body along

with five thousand others to the field

not the kind of funeral thrown

any doctor or lawyer

but for one who sings

personally in cape and wig

let mass grief give to mass joy

appearance and disappearance

afterward the colonel and I in seersucker

walk down to the magic show

a stage of blinds and screens

appearance and disappearance

a dove fluttering—voilà!—

vivid from assistant’s cuff

to an assassin’s velvet melody

and if one magician

crawl away in shadow

thinking himself unseen

so the empire is also gone

and the avenue escaping into the parish

those years these lines outstretched

lightweight and striped

fly from my sleeve