Tonight all the big men are weeping,
they are rubbing their eyes like toddlers
worn out from charming their parents’ friends.
Bashful in their glory, the men, bawling,
cover their heads like brides, collapse
to the ground, mariners restored to earth.
In exultation the sobbing men lift up
their languid children, shields
their great hands would never let fall.
Spying the year’s first clover, a rabbit
stretches its body taut, as if prepared for the spit.
In the same quivering instant, irony
too is suspended, and the big men, crying,
embrace, declare their love for each other.
Made beneficent by their victory,
we grant them this one night.
