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The Titans
-Prague, 2007
The spotlight drifts from the Battling Titans tonight
and in the darkness to which they’re so unaccustomed
might and splendor again become mere muscle,
the vast gold gateway just another door.
What fortifies the castle this single quiet night
is the lamplit shadow of a dog,
is a scattering of coins on the sidewalk.
Tonight they have voice
but have forgotten how best to speak.
The Titans have won
even in defeat.
Nobody recollects a brief movement of light
or the context of a moment’s diversion from strength.
We prefer carrying in our pockets
snapshots of history
and likewise carrying our flaccid bodies
over streets forever foreign,
as if ourselves carved of iron and muscle,
as if guarding the very night
from the menacing shadow of a dog.
