> The Men That Are Falling
(Wallace Stevens)
God and all angels sing the world to sleep
Now that the moon is rising in the heat
And crickets are loud again in the grass. The moon
Burns in the mind on lost remembrances.
He lies down and the night wind blows upon him here.
The bells grow longer. This is not sleep. This is desire.
Ah! Yes, desire…this leaning on his bed,
This leaning on his elbows on his bed,
Staring, at midnight, at the pillow that is black
In the catastrophic room…beyond despair,