Wallace Stevens

June 13, 2009

Two Letters

I
A letter from

Even if there had been a crescent moon
On every cloud-tip over the heavens, 
Drenching the evening with crystals’ light, 

One would have wanted more-more-more-
Some true interior to which to return
A home against one’s self, a darkness

An ease in which to live a moment’s life, 
The moment of life’s love and fortune, 
Free from everything else, free above all from thought. 

It would have been like lighting a candle, 
Like leaning on the table, shading one’s eyes, 
And hearing a tale one wanted intensely to hear, 

As if we were all seated together again
And one of us spoke and all of us believed
What we heard and the light, though little, was enough. 

II
A Letter To

She wanted a holiday
With someone to speak her dulcied native tongue, 

In the shadows of the wood…
Shadows, woods… and the two of them in speech, 

In a secrecy of words
Opened out within a secrecy of place, 

Not having to do with love. 
A land would hold her in its arms that day

Or something much like a land. 
The circle would no longer be broken but closed. 

The miles of distance away
From everything would end. It would all meet.

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