"Illusio" for Vaslav Nijinsky

They would your madness

Were full of mountains.

Bare cobbled roads

And drained out fountains.

So the leaning pines they whisper

‘Neath the blanket winter snows.

Your golden slaves have fled their posts—

There’s someone out upon the stair.

And talk of nerves hushed on the phone.

You’ve frightened all the guests away

The music plays all on its own.

Your wife is crying down the hall

Your daughter wakens in her room.

A doctor’s knocking at the door

As dawn creeps in the wooded east.

More are coming up the stairs—

I swear they’re coming up in pairs.