If sex were all, then every trembling hand Could make us squeak, like dolls, the wished-for words. - Wallace Stevens

Twenty men crossing a bridge, Into a village, Are Twenty men crossing a bridge Into a village.

Rationalists, wearing square hats,
Think, in square rooms,
Looking at the floor,
Looking at the ceiling.
They confine themselves
To right-angled triangles.
If they tried rhomboids,
Cones, waving lines, ellipses — As, for example, the ellipse of the half-moon — Rationalists would wear sombreros.

Tonight the lilacs magnify The easy passion, the ever-ready love Of the lover that lies within us and we breathe An odor evoking nothing, absolute. We encounter in the dead middle of the night The purple odor, the abundant bloom.