The Layers By Stanley Kunitz

The Layers



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 camp-sites,



over which 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 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

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