Classic Poem

Outside the window, a pistol shot,
the curtain instantly
set on fire,
and so comes the hour I waited for:
it's night, like a regiment,
framed with cellophane —
France,
be reconciled with Spain,
lions, each of you,
lick your tail.
I suddenly become tolerant,
hold hands
with someone who's ceased to be anyone,
and take between our enclosing hands
the generous adult's hour.
Sure, in the zoo,
there's got to be an elephant,
next to it
there's got to be another elephant.
The hour that can't but come
comes,
how splendid.
Allow the severed flowers on the table
the act of pollination.
Now, little time
remains
unresurrected.
The night is rolled back,
the chair shaken,
the card flag pulled down,
crayon melts in the palm,
and the morning comes to make a promise.