At length he was obliged to rest
to clutch with one hand
the handrail of the bridge
and with the other
his embroidered breast
where a plump half-hunter raced.

Here, he decided, .he would
wait for her. The spray smoked
in the staggering trees and cliffs
like the swirls of her hair.
Under his feet the water churned
and the slick boards juddered
despite his grip. Birds,
he decided, would no more sing.

Then she, again,
placing her hat upon the seat,
reached out a muslined arm, opened
the first-class carriage door,
and rose like a white seraph
over the bellowing summer fields,
the tiny pistol still in her hand,
while he sat bleeding
through his freshly-laundered shirt,
his cigarillo rolling on the floor.