[from Notes Toward a Supreme Fiction, by Wallace Stevens:]
Not to be realized because not to
Be seen, not to be loved nor hated because
Not to be realized. Weather by Franz Hals,
Brushed up by brushy winds in brushy clouds,
Wetted by blue, colder for white. Not to
Be spoken to, without a roof, without
First fruits, without the virginal of birds,
The dark-brown ceinture loosened, not relinquished.
Gay is, gay was, the gay forsythia
And yellow, yellow thins the Northern blue.
Without a name and nothing to be desired,
If only imagined but imagined well.
My house has changed a little in the sun.
The fragrance of the magnolias comes close,
False flick, false form, but falseness close to kin.
It must be visible, or invisible,
Invisible or visible or both:
A seeing and unseeing in the eye.
The weather and the giant of the weather,
Say the weather, the mere weather, the mere air:
An abstraction blooded, as a man by thought.
[All rights reserved by the author's estate - Please do not copy]