Sunday Morning With Wallace Stevens

Sunday Morning With Wallace Stevens

there will always be time for paradise

between the pages of a posthumous opus

on a Sunday morning with Wallace Stevens

& a stack of single-spaced American sonnets

to camouflage my infinite longing for poise

quietly we discuss the depths of imagination

while I rifle through my worn-in handbag

& he re-organizes the formula for poetry

there will always be cause for confusion

between my reflection and his encumbrance

with experience’s heart pulsing in my palm

& an entire winter of muted illustrations

to occupy his reclusive contemporary aplomb

nothing prepared us for what we would discover

from our time spent together chewing oranges

& sipping home-made wine from chipped goblets

the residue of our combined private predilections

sound after sound make a perfect song of loss

championing the seventy-five verses composed

on those calm Sunday mornings between breaths

intellect made of us a series

intention made of us a celebration

there will always be time for heaven

between me and Wallace Stevens

grazing the circumference of revolving angelic choirs

syllables in intervals illuminate the darkness of things

me and Wallace Stevens

***

Gearing up to hit the road for a weekend away but not before arriving home to pack to find two fantastic postcards waiting for me in my mailbox.  More for the collection!

Be nice to each other.

In propinquity,

Nic