The Fencer

The appearance of perfection: 
Chiaroscuro come to an August day 
Wafted by van Rijn. 
Against the waving sky is the great tree 
Icon for what, I do not wish to know. 
Icon for what I do not wish to know.

What I cannot defeat I will to learn to meet. 
Measure with level gaze on ordained ground; 
Parry, attack and parry, sabers clanging 
Along the warning lines. 
This shadow fencer is unwearying 
Nor will his blade aim for my side or arm: 
It is heart’s blood he seeks.

So be it. This is an honorable stain 
And I may give in kind. 
Five points in all—
A venerable number. 
Right deep I bear these wounds into the sun 
And lean against the tree. 
And lean against the tree.

—Myrna Reid