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
- Wallace Stevens
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