More potent than a precious stone,
her beauty wounds, and healing grass
cannot help; across plains and
hills
I fled this radiant woman.
From her light I found no shadow
of mountain, wall, or living green.
I have seen her pass, gowned in green,
and thought the sight could make a stone
love, as I, even her shadow.
And I have walked with her on grass,
speaking like a love-sick woman,
encI05ed within the highest hills.
But streams will flow back to their hills
before this branch, sappy and green,
will catch fire (as does a woman)
from me, who would bed down on stone
and gladly for his food crop grass
just
td
see her gown cast shadow.
The heavy shadow cast by hills
this woman's light can change to green,
as one might hide a stone in grass.
Stanley Kunitz
THE MAN UPSTAIRS
The old man sick with boyhood fears,
Whose thin shanks ride the naked blast,
Intones; the gray somnambulist
Creaks down interminable stairs,
Dreaming my future as his past.
A flower withers in its vase,
A print detaches from the wall;
