For Persephone, from The House on Marshland.

from Pomegranate / by Louise Glück

First he gave me
his heart. It was
red fruit containing
many seeds, the skin
leathery, unlikely.

For one of my favorite poems of all time, from Return to the City of White Donkeys.

from Of Whom Am I Afraid? / by James Tate

          At some point there was an
old, grizzled farmer standing next to me holding
a rake, and I said to him, ‘Have you ever read
much Emily Dickinson?’ ‘Sure,’ he said, ‘I
reckon I’ve read all of her poems at least a
dozen times. She’s a real pistol….’