Which is real-

mcassapidis, 2016

WHICH is real—
This bottle of indigo glass in the grass,
Or the bench with the pot of geraniums, the stained mattress and the washed overalls drying in the sun?
Which of these truly contains the world?
Neither one, nor the two together. from The Indigo Glass in the Grass Wallace Stevens

WHICH is real—

This bottle of indigo glass in the grass,

Or the bench with the pot of geraniums, the stained mattress and the washed overalls drying in the sun?

Which of these truly contains the world?

Neither one, nor the two together.

from The Indigo Glass in the Grass
Wallace Stevens

Jove in the clouds...

©fourteenth

III

Jove in the clouds had his inhuman birth.
No mother suckled him, no sweet land gave
Large-mannered motions to his mythy mind
He moved among us, as a muttering king,
Magnificent, would move among his hinds,
Until our blood, commingling, virginal,
With heaven, brought such requital to desire
The very hinds discerned it, in a star.
Shall our blood fail? Or shall it come to be
The blood of paradise? And shall the earth
Seem all of paradise that we shall know?
The sky will be much friendlier then than now,
A part of labor and a part of pain,
And next in glory to enduring love,
Not this dividing and indifferent blue.

Wallace Stevens
from Sunday Morning

tree evening

©fourteenth

I measure myself
Against a tall tree
I find that I am much taller,
For I reach right up to the sun
With my eye;
And I reach to the shore of the sea
With my ear.
Nevertheless, I dislike
The way the ants crawl
In and out of my shadow.
- Wallace Stevens