Doisneau: Underground Press

Were I to fall in love all over again, it would be
with this low ceiling, with the calm  faces
of  the two men going about their craft,
and with her, now twisting towards them,
beautiful, defiant and free.

Because we forget how beauty was once itself
and nothing else, how it held its stellar
moment in attic and cellar.

Because that is what beauty is, this compact
with time and the silence of  concentration
on one subversive operation,

that requires courage and sacrifice
and never comes without a price.

More Poems by George Szirtes