The Gentleman
Captain Harlan T. Nelson, stationed
at the White House as a guard,
often saw the president talking
with a stray dog in his office or
as he walked to the War Department.
Wandering through the house
these lost souls roamed the halls
with their tongues lolling out or
barking suddenly at the mirrors—
but one day late in September
a Scottish terrier click-
clicked slowly into the office
and jumped onto the sofa
where Lincoln was studying maps
and the dog sat there scratching
at a flea and then said, “I’m having
some problems with my health,”
and Lincoln turned and
understood being himself exhausted
to the bone which the terrier
sensed and so they spoke awhile
of the cause of the Union
and the trouble with generals
who will not fight and of the arc
and flight of hickory sticks
thrown really heaved up into
the blue sky so that it seems
they will never come down,
“Just floating,” he said, “as if
by magic.” “Yes,” said the other,
“the one thing that would redeem
everything else in life that is ruin
and loss.” “Yes, magic,” he said,
“and love.” Two sparrows flickered
fighting in the boxwood outside
making the branches spring
and the gentleman suddenly
noticed the time, shook the hand
he was offered and wandered off
through the ornate hallways down
the front yard slowly towards
the slaughterhouse and the wharf. 
The Cavalry
The Gentleman
The Pages
The Parade
The Wine