I read that a guillotined head
Hears and sees for a few moments
Before it slips into darkness
That life lingers and clings and grasps

Is this why her lips contorted
And forehead wrinkled in regret
Even as her sweet honeycombed hair
Radiated in a crown of rapture
Too otherworldly for the earthiness of the pavement

How will my hour surprise me
And will it be the way
The great painters were commissioned
To portray their monarchs
In elegant stylish ecstasy
Or will I slip out cold and alone at night
Without a final word or a good excuse