drunk thanksgiving poem

I am twenty years on this earth
And seen boys turn to men
And men emerge again in their boys...
It was my luck the eaves of this house should bless
A new womanhood threaded in lust,
The glazed pots and Jansen's history of art,
The ember-figures coursing whole into ash...
I will soon grow old,
still I am pale with ardor; leave me here
under the catkins livid red,
the veined rose at my head.