Classic Poem

I wonder about chess — whether
it's not half the answer: Im plosion
instead of Ex plosion — an un-
manageable planet held
in total if brief eclipse
(by the backs of our heads) while
an Armageddon of pure mind
rages on a tea table. Consider
the evanescent kingdoms
of ivory and malachite,
how they triumph or topple; and how
lucid it is, this history, how
intact as to principle
with Homer and Holinshed,
the Chansons, the Book of Kings. . . .

(Looked coldly at from the moon,
our own globe would be garlanded
in every millennium
with borders ablaze, with lines of battle.)

I can imagine a life
pared to that essence: castles and crowns
and heraldic horses — a harmless Napoleon
or humane Machiavel, his hecatombs
rising up eight abreast again
threatening, in immaculate panoply,
and the end unpredictable: History
without horror ... " Look " (he could say)
" we each get dominions,
an army in the field,
policy, principles of the wars,
honor in the balance . . . .
God's
will be done; it is not dice
He plays with the world. "