CICERO AT HIS VILLA

Each year that passes, you wonder more
if these dry branches will green again.
Between the wonder are thoughts of empire
and careless sparrows flitting bough to bough.

No amount of civilization erases the cruel
laughter of some men or the relish they take
in another man's pain. Theirs is a momentary
vision that sees only as far as from table to bed.

I know they are coming for me, impossible
citizen that I am, they think violence stills
my voice, but I have written and written well.
Let them take my head--ink will tell.

Robert Klein Engler