The Plain Sense of Things

The plain sense of things is that there is no plain sense. The inner light affects the wing of a bird. The ocean of sun reflects ourselves; the gates Are open in endless summer light and shade.

We look up through the trees, Among the Spanish moss, the first bird sings That warms the day anew, the leaves stir Like soft breath; the tendrils cling.

This world of things is mirrored, With balances of earth, with balances of sky. The hearts fall silent; great mountains Rise out of those balances, without noise.

• Wallace Stevens