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

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This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 16 Number 3, on page 33
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