The Woman in Sunshine
--Wallace Stevens 

It is only that this warmth and movement are like
The warmth and movement of a woman. 

It is not that there is any image in the air
Nor the beginning nor end of a form: 

It is empty. But a woman in threadless gold
Burns us with brushings of her dress 

And a dissociated abundance of being,
More definite for what she is— 

Because she is disembodied,
Bearing the odors of the summer fields, 

Confessing the taciturn and yet indifferent,
Invisibly clear, the only love.