Back home from the grave,
behind my desk I made
a gallery of Janes:
at twenty-four, with long
straight hair sitting
beside me in my Pittsburgh
Pirate suit; standing
recessive in shadow
wearing her near-sighted
glasses, Kearsarge behind us;
stretched out glamorous
in her bathing suit
at Key West; foxy
and beautiful at forty-five;
embracing me last year;
front page of the Sunday
Concord Monitor
in color with headline:
poet jane kenyon dies
AT HER HOME IN WILMOT.