It can never be satisfied, the mind, never. - Wallace Stevens

Style is not something applied. It is something that permeates. It is of the nature of that in which it is found, whether the poem, the manner of a god, the bearing of a man. It is not a dress.

I am the spouse. She took her necklace off And laid it in the sand. As I am, I am The spouse. She opened her stone-studded belt.<p> I am the spouse, divested of bright gold, The spouse beyond emerald or amethyst, Beyond the burning body that I bear. <p>I am the woman stripped more nakedly Than nakedness, standing before an inflexible Order, saying I am the contemplated spouse.

Upon the bank, she stood In the cool Of spent emotions. She felt, among the leaves, The dew Of old devotions.