Judith Fitzgerald

1 September 1979

For the error bred in the bone
Of each woman and each man
Craves what it cannot have,
Not universal love
But to be loved alone.
— W. H. Auden

As mad as Nijinski        
he fumbles in mid-forever
     and forgives those around
        his habit of disappearance, almost
its own universal —
          what it cannot have
is stasis, a space across
the span of a maudlin               
universe, devalued and          
deflowered, cannot have
miniature incarcerations
          of the abnormal heart —
          the insistent craving
to not stand apart.