The Plain Sense of Things by Wallace Stevens #1

plain sense of thingsThis is a poem that seems to acknowledge that even when we can see the wood for the trees, even when we have explained the plain sense of things, we are still in mystery.

I’m writing this mid-walk through Harrow on The Hill near Shaw’s Convenience Store and Encanto Restaurant Delicatessen, and I am aware that woman who’s just popped out to buy a pint of milk from Hill Foods overhears the tail end my Siri dictation: “We are still in mystery” and thinks I am being obtuse and/or pretentious on the phone when in fact I am being both or neither to myself.

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