BY CAROLYN KIZER Remembering the past And gloating at it now, I know the frozen brow And shaking sides of lust Will dog me at my death To catch my ghostly breath.             I think that Yeats was right,           That lust and love are one.           The body of this night            May beggar me to death,           But we are not undone           Who love with all our breath.                        I know that Proust was wrong,                      His wheeze: love, to survive,                      Needs jealousy, and death                      And lust, to make it strong                      Or goose it back alive.                      Proust took away my breath.…