Sorry, Sarah-Jane, but those don't do it for me. I think the open window - and possible reading of a hint of a spat and a suicide - the spill of wine, the shattered vase, the twisted mirror - are what I'm trying to capture in the graphic. A sense of foreboding. Your choices are good art, but too pleasant for me, and they are all a step further from the poem than I want
Here's another one from the same book that's crying for an illustration - a Hopper, of course, but darker than the one above.
For Trudy, in New York on Business
You came and went in dead flat Hopper light:
encounter at the Whitney; swift affair
that we, both married, knew would lead nowhere -
but all each wanted was the one-night
stand of sorts; late afternoon-lit flight
to your hotel; a lamp, a desk, a chair,
a bed on which to stumble, fall and share
the satisfaction of an appetite
for unexpected sex. No mysteries,
no chiaroscuro worked to mask the sight
of loose and mottled flesh. And did we care?
Was there more there than Edward Hopper sees?
You filled the window, stark, unshaded, bright;
I watched your shadow paint the soot-choked air.
Maybe this one:
https://www.moma.org/media/W1siZiIsI...a43cd3812d99e9