Scottish poet Carol Ann Duffy won the T.S. Eliot Poetry Prize (one of the most prestigious in the UK) last month. I've read a fair amount of her stuff recently, and this is my current favorite. The last stanza is devastatingly good, of course, but the build-up is excellent as well.
The older she gets,
the more she awakes
with somebody's face strewn in her head
like petals which once made a flower.
What everyone does
is sit by a desk
and stare at the view, till the time
where they live reappears. Mostly in words.
Imagine a girl
turning to see
love stand by a window, taller,
clever, anointed with sudden light.
Yes, like an angel then,
to be truthful now.
At first a secret, erotic, mute;
today a language she cannot recall.
And we're all owed joy,
sooner or later.
The trick's to remember whenever
it was, or to see it coming.