Stranger and Stranger
……
How intricate your beauty is, how sad
My sturdy worship. Curiously they fit.
Your loveliness, tinged by women you’ve had,
Is laced with curling shapes. There’s not one bit
Of you that isn’t curled, especially your
Soul where it lies, seeking there in fetal coil,
Some solace for the loss of father, cur
That he became. That man, root of the toil
Of loving you, orates in blank French verse.
All else follows, limpingly. Limping bends,
Too. Curves all over you are never terse:
They’re covered with black curls. Your body lends
Its strength to them. These, sprouting everywhere
That tells, pervade eternity with hair.