JULY MOUNTAIN
We live in a constellation
Of patches and of pitches,
Not in a single world,
In things said well in music,
On the piano, and in speech,
As in a page of poetry —
Thinkers without final thoughts
In an always incipient cosmos,
The way, when we climb a mountain,
Vermont throws itself together.
_________________
Wallace Stevens
Selected Poems
(Knopf 2009)
Robert Frost and Wallace Stevens
Key West, 1940
photo: Alexandra Schueler
