The Palm at the End of the Mind

Of Mere Being
The palm at the end of the mind,
Beyond the last thought, rises
In the bronze distance.
A gold-feathered bird
Sings in the palm, without human meaning,
Without human feeling, a foreign song.
You know then that it is not the reason
That makes us happy or unhappy.
The bird sings. Its feathers shine.
The palm stands on the edge of space.
The wind moves slowly in the branches.
The bird’s fire-fangled feathers dangle down.

~Wallace Stevens, 1954

This entry was posted on Monday, January 26th, 2015 at 6:46 am. It is filed under Costa Rica, Creative Culture. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.