(A man thinks of the woman he once loved: first, after her wedding, and then nearly a decade later.)

1.
I kissed you, bride and lost, and went
home from that bourgeois sacrament
your cheek still tasting cold upon
my lips that gave you benison
with all the swagger that they knew--
as losers somehow learn to do

Your wedding made my eyes ache; soon
the world would be worse off for one
more golden apple dropped to the ground
without the least protesting sound
and you would windfall lie, and we
forget your shimmer on the tree

beauty is always wasted: if
not Mignon's song sung to the deaf
at all events to the unmoved
a face like yours cannot be loved
long or seriously enough
almost we seem to hold it off

2.
Well, you are tougher than I thought
Now when the wash with ice hangs taught
this morning of St. Valentine
I see you strip the squeaking line
your body weighed against the load
and all my groans can do no good
because you still are beautiful
though squared and stiffened by the pull
of what nine windy years have done
you have three daughters, lost a son
I see all your intelligence
flung into that unwearied stance

my envy is of no avail
i turn my head and wish him well
who chafed your beauty into use
and lives forever in a house
lit by the friction of your mind
you stagger in against the wind