Poetry is an abstraction bloodied. - Wallace Stevens

Soldier, there is a war between the mind And sky, between thought and day and night. It is For that the poet is always in the sun,<p> Patches the moon together in his room To his Virgilian cadences, up down, Up down. It is a war that never ends.

The meeting of their shadows or that meet In a book in a barrack, a letter from Malay. But your war ends. And after it you return

after the final no, there comes a yes, and on that yes the future world depends