Deer
walk upon our hills, and the quail
Whistle
about us their spontaneous cries;
Sweet
berries ripen in the wilderness;
And,
in the isolation of the sky,
At
evening, casual flocks of doves do make
Ambiguous
undulations as they sink,
Downward
to darkness, on extended wings.
Adapted from Wallace Stevens, “Sunday Morning”
Foto by Fenner