Aeneas and Dido leave the party, walk down to the 
beach. Achates follows at a safe distance.  Crashing  waves. 
"What about all those other girls?" Tiger lilies flash in the moonlight. Their afterimage stays with you, until her face
replaces them. The Sherpas lift their burdens, Sir 
Edmund resumes the ascent. The coda is brief but stir-
ring. Distant strains float though the part and folly. You
wish them away. In the office there is a flutter of leases.
Their afterimage stays with you, until birds replace them.

Above Lake Geneva the lonely monster lumbered down
the ramparts. Later, he watched the horizon from a float-
ing iceberg. An eerie silence surrounded him. Let me
tell you something personal about myself. Suddenly a
bolt of lightning lit up the city. The key shone brightly
against the night sky. There’s really nothing wrong with my
hair. The pool party ended, we slipped out of our suits.
I saw your documents and they took my breath away.

A white spire against a blue sky. What’s in a name? You
recline in a dark wood. The ships set sail for Troy,
Menelaus had been edgy lately. We approached the
haunted house, the wind whistling in the leaves. The
ghost appeared and we turned white. I revisit the
museum and confront my own ghost. Take a powder.
Paris sat up in bed. Regrets come flooding back. The
name is personal, the face another pretty one. The wind
dies down. When I return home everything is just as I
left it.

Five years ago I visited Tinhorn Abbey. Since then too
many things have happened. Anyway, I can’t talk about
it––too painful. The sudden plop of the ball into your
glove wakes me from my reverie. I lift your veil to make
sure you are my intended. Herons or frogs are often the
"stars" of haiku, the way you are the star of this poem, or
maybe more of a guest star. Listen, I was once a frog
prince, it wasn’t pretty. Five years have passed. The ball
disappears behind a cloud. Frightened deer leap across
the field. Suddenly I’m alone among the tourists. Bells
ring, the ball descends.