after The House Was Quiet and the World Was Calm by Wallace Stevens
The field was high and the sun was low
and the woman became the light; and the evening
slowed its pace perhaps to let the light remain.
The field was high and the sun was low.
She moved as though there were no night
worth fearing, as if the field could hold it all.
She leaned into the goldening, the way
the light itself leans softly on the world.
The night, a gentle friend, meandered quietly
across the land. There were no words
that could be said. The field was high
and the sun was lower. Slowly, hushed,
the wind a sigh, the field surrendered
all its lines. The darkness gathered
everything, the field, the woman, even
light, and made itself an offering.
So perfect
thank you! you’ve felt it, too
Like a stream of silk, an evening song, or even a luscious softening dish of ice cream, this poem slides from the paper into my being so I know initimately the feeling of becoming night….. so lovely, Rosemerry. Thanks.
what a lovely essence-of-summer poem Rosemerry, love what you did with this xoxox
thank you, jan, it felt very summer-ish, as if I were swallowed by summer.