He stood a moment against the wall
then walked towards the executioner
reached for the mouth of the rifle
and tried to take it from him,
gently, as if a breadknife from
a lover gesticulating.

He stood back against the wall
then walked off again
apologetically, as if from a broken
heart’s call to fight at bar-closing.
But they grabbed him
and knelt him
and bent him over
his prayer now a river of lions