II: ARNAUD DU TILH

You didn't know, Dog-God, Feaster on Hearts
That when she took you in and fed you
Secrets, details of a marriage replaced
That he would come—whose name you wore, assured,
But ultimately like a ticket, a
Marked wrist—that he would come back, not for you,
Not for her either, but for himself: shame.
(Her hair unbound for you, white shoulders—yours)
Would you still have borrowed those years, knowing
Dimly always you would repay them
and more: collar - woollen - in summer - turned
To hemp? Your too-small feet, once firm, would dance
On air? Your wife—his wife—whom you loved or
Said you loved would, like a doe before a
truck, look just below his eyes, tears too late?
(Her hair unbound for you, white shoulders—yours)
Could you have breathed the same sigh back in?
No—you returned, palindrome that you are,
To the soft pallette of her memory
To achieve at last your pretense, your ruse
The one that would have worked, but he came back—
At the trial, no less—his suit almost yours
Like a doe staring down a truck, tears too late
(Her hair unbound for you, white shoulders—yours)
You didn't know, dog-god, feaster on hearts?
Who were you the last moment? Lover? Knave?
Were your thoughts on the money—back harvests
Tilled by an uncle in his nephew's stead—
The quest for which aroused his suspicion?
Or the way, feathery, her glance dropped with
Her loosed hair as you blew out the candle?

When he marched, hobble-hopped into the courthouse
Did you cry: "O all has come undone now!"
Or did you shrug and say "It was nice
“While it lasted" or did you say: "I know
“Those years should never have been mine to
“Remember
“But

“Her hair unbound” for you, white shoulders—yours
You didn't know, dog-god, feaster on hearts.