The reader would read but with no lamp but under a lone star burning in the sky .After yesterday’s commotion, the sea no more climbed a sky, to yet another dark night of December.
Now the storm came and the storm went. There is only left this much winter’s blood. The sea would make no hum in the window but only whisper in the silence of the night.
The night whispered onto the window’s translucent glass, with its kiss of cold as rain vapor.
The reader read all night long in its pages of death and cold.
(Reading Wallace Stevens poem “The Reader”)