1.

Madame Szymborska stands by a window
in a short-sleeved sweater, lightly-colored
scarf (loosely knotted). Is thus so pictured
inside the jacket of of her collection View
With a Grain of Sand. It's silk I suppose.
White-haired, about my age, give or take a year
or two, and asked by the photographer
"Please smile, Madame," she strikes the pose.

She smiles. Oh, yes, she can for the moment
and yet, beyond the look, a flickering
of memory? Stirred recall of breaking
loves-- of one great love?-- ecstatic, ancient

(And I, unknowing actuality,
biographize, albeit, inventively. )

2.

A requisite: to be an artist one
must suffer. Love? Behold the irony
of "True Love," wherein, for our progeny
who needs it? Really? (in her opinion).
for propagation of the human race
so scarce, it couldn't populate the earth
in eons. Why then, does the private mirth
of zealous lovers so embarrass us?

A poet in Europe is more favoured than ours
more celebrated, can smoke cigarettes
suffer splendidly art's prerequisites
through liaisons with mistresses (or lovers)

Of the cigarette you hold, be careful
Dear Madam, of the ash, about to fall.

.......................................................................Israel Lewis