THE DESERTION

—For Sylvia Plath

I wonder if it was

that he could not endure

that if not more, not less

was what she brought

and truer;

a rightful match

a mind and soul to catch

his star-flung thought

to soar

if not beyond at least as far

I wonder if it was

just envy, fear

that made him count it less

to be so mated near

when what he wanted most

was a certain awe

and worshipful tear

One thing we know:

the starcrossed paths divergence made

          and she was left alone

This thing we know:

he reached and took life’s easy trade

          she inherited a stone