Here
                    Chana Bloch

                      Anything
                even the black
         satin road where it catches
       the streaked oils of stoplights
          as I drive home alone
             from the hospital
        rain pocking the windshield
       tires slicing the pooled water
       to a spume taller than the car.
      Even that patch where the road
     fell in, rutted as a face, even that
             cries out: Look at me
            don’t turn away, admit
            the ravage is beautiful.
       The world insists: I was here
          before you and your pain,
                  I am here and I
          will outlast you. Yes, says
             the mind stroking itself
                   into life again
                 as a body, taking
                    what comfort
                        it can.

from Mrs. Dumpty, an astounding collection of poems about the end of Bloch’s marriage, about how love is born and how it dies.