Greg Simon

   after Ricardo Reis

Write a perfect stanza
like Brazilian breezes,
or cane fields in summer,
a plaza where the soul
lies sleeping in the sun...
Light the Himalayas
with a headdress of snow,
or a fire in the hearth
where we sit in plush chairs,
rhyming, memorizing...
The gods who live with us
grant very few pleasures
other than these, which are
nothing.  They also grant
we will want no others.