On Shakespeare’s Histories of England

Past dusk, in a clouded forest

The birds hung still on windless branches

And no fish jumped:

Insects stifled by the fog retreated…

Then wings flew down

A massive beating tyrant

Shadowed before the night

Swift-beaked, plunging

A kamikaze red-eyed and sweating

Drooling blood

And there was no scream

And no fish jumped.