Birch Moons
The birches are hearers of the seasons. They hold the moons of summer. Their branches bend by skies, Catching the speech of stars, Then wade through the deep blue air.
That is the sound of weight, Sustaining the evening glow. The sky listens to their branches; it folds, The hum of the world contained.
The white moons rise slowly into night It is the dream of quiet. All things calm their heads; the deep breath Of the earth sync the stars.
- Wallace Stevens