"I am not done with my changes."*

for the last few years i saw  

Outdoor Nation

the hat more than
you:
floppy, white, omni-
present.

no, not you floppy!
but yeah, white, though
more truly chesnut brown
like folks might pay
to have a tahoe
house blend
in.

you're always at the end
of the world, a stance
that is not defiant
like i thought,
but ready,
like i (already)
knew,
and stiff legged
well,
maybe, yes,
defiant: like i (already)
knew.

how i wish for the names
of every plant between
you
and the camera
lens, and loved
them as
you
do the earth
and all that dwells
therein, plus
the plant's
names.

i wish
you
could kiss
the lips of every
god-crier, heaven's-coming
love-offering believer.
i wish
you
could slip them
sweet nectar from the end
of the honeysuckle's
string hid inside
the petals,
you.

*I have walked 

through many lives,

some of them my own,

and I am not who I was,

though some principle 

of being abides,

from which I struggle 

not to stray.

When I look behind,

as I am compelled to look 

before I can gather strength 

to proceed on my journey,

I see the milestones 

dwindling toward the horizon 

and the slow fires trailing 

from the abandoned campsites, 

over which the scavenger angels 

wheel on heavy wings.

Oh, I have made myself 

a tribe out of 

my true affections,

and my tribe is scattered!

How shall the heart 

be reconciled 

to its feast of losses?

In a rising wind,

the manic dust of my friends,

those who fell along the way,

bitterly stings my face.

Yet I turn.

I turn,

exulting somewhat,

with my will intact 

to go wherever I need to go,

and every stone on the road 

precious to me.

In my darkest night,

when the moon was covered 

and I roamed 

through the wreckage,

a nimbus-clouded voice 

directed me:

Live in the layers, 

not on the litter.

Though I lack the art 

to decipher it,

no doubt the next chapter 

in my book of transformations 

is already written.

I am not done with my changes.

--Stanley Kunitz