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Mary Surratt guilty of innkeeping fell like a hundred pounds of millet through a hole in the universe, her parlor undusted in July heat |
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| as the fight for Lincoln’s body raged in Springfield and Mary Todd’s clairvoyant saw pigeons roosting in a fat eave, which meant to Mary it was right to grieve it was right to grieve |
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and while Samuel Mudd boarded a skiff for the ride to Tortuga, catching a nail on his striped sleeve |
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| Edwin Booth dodged rocks and turnips on a Baltimore street thinking of Lear, Prospero, the Fates, and Corinth under siege. |
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 Al Rocheleau
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