"For the listener, who listens in the snow,
And, nothing himself, beholds
Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is."
– Wallace Stevens, The Snow Man.
We take the pride of all things
the death of all things
tilted to the dark silhouette
tapping into the froth of gardenias,
crawling, drinking from their death-beds;
I had never seen the gardenias
I told her; never knew it well,
what a waste to entrance amongst
ourselves and our cold-blooded feet,
because these pretty girls
do not know the ultima, the divine comedies
of the messianic toll; bathe the ecstasy in ashes
and entice the falling seconds
agonized in poetry; I scatter to an age of snow
but I am too young; and bone and drowning,
I want to drown at the feet of the rain
if so should she bless me through
the thunder-strike empire in her eyes—
only figments to mine.
© 2021 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.
Written for the dVerse prompt: Take the last lines of Wallace Stevens’ The Snow Man and write a poem that is imbued with the existential paradox implied there.