In Jack Gilbert's extraordinary book of poetry, Refusing Heaven, the death and ghost of his first wife haunts the lines of many of his poems. He's always thoughtful when he speaks of her; and it captivates me because of it. Here is one of my favorites, as an example:
BY SMALL AND SMALL: MIDNIGHT TO FOUR A.M.
For eleven years I have regretted it,
regretted that I did not do what
I wanted to do as I sat there those
four hours watching her die. I wanted
to crawl in among the machinery
and hold her in my arms, knowing
the elementary, leftover bit of her
mind would dimly recognize it was me
carrying her to where she was going.
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