On the lam from the law, on the steps of the capitol,   you shot a plain-clothes cop on the ten o'clock.   And I saw, momentarily, they flashed a photograph.   It couldn't be you.      You'd been abused so horribly,   but you were there in some anonymous room.      And I recall that fall--I was working for the government--   and in a bathroom stall off the national mall   how we kissed so sweetly! How could I refuse a favor or two?   And for a tryst in the greenery, I gave you documents and microfilm too.      From my ten-floor tenement, where once our bodies lay,   how I long to hear you say:   "No they'll never catch me now.   No, they'll never catch me, no   they cannot catch me now.    We will escape somehow. Somehow."      It was late one night, I was awoken by the telephone.   I heard a strangled cry on the end of the line.   Purloined in Petrograd, they were suspicious of where your loyalties lay.   So I paid off a bureaucrat    to convince your captors there to secret you away.      And at the gate of the embassy   our hands met through the bars   as your whisper stilled my heart:   "No they'll never catch me now.   No, they'll never catch me, no    they cannot catch me now.    We will escape somehow. Somehow."      And I dreamt one night you were there in court.   Head held high in uniform.      It was ten years on    when you resurfaced in a motor car.   And with a wave of an arm, you were there and gone.