Saturday, October 12, 2013

It is not possible for the moon

This mangled, smutted semi-world hacked out

Of dirt . . . It is not possible for the moon
To blot this with its dove-winged blendings.

She must come now. The grass is in seed and high.
Come now. Those to be born have need

Of the bride, love being a birth, have need to see
And to touch her . . . .

Come now, pearled and pasted, bloomy-leafed,
While the domes resound with chant involving chant.

Wallace Stevens
from "Ghosts as Cocoons"

1 comment:

  1. and it shouldn't be possible for you, for any of us, to find the perfect poem for this perfect photo, in its beauty and purity, and yet, and yet - how? i can only ask how, and be silent, and wonder, and tremble...