The Men with Long Faces
--Stephen Dobyns (1976)

The men with long faces have come after my knives.
They put their ladders against the sides of my house.
They put their heads through my windows, all pressed together
like the spines of old books.  There is much law within them.
My knives are taken and packed carefully in cotton.
How shall I be known from my animals without them?
How shall I keep apart the corners of my rooms?
The men with long faces speak of new futures and welcomings.
They ask my repose, promising comfortable houses.
I grease my hands and the men try to shake them.
My knives fill with laughter like firemen at field days.
How shall I now read the night without them?
How shall I know which stars are lying?
They are carrying my knives to their wagons of boredom.
The streetlights come on and each one is singing.
Tied down in the back, my knives are forgetting.
How shall I know what is quiet without them?
How shall the darkness now keep its distance?