II

The night is of the color
Of a woman's arm:
Night, the female,
Obscure,
Fragrant and supple,
Conceals herself.
A pool shines,
Like a bracelet
Shaken in a dance.

III
I measure myself
Against a tall tree.
I find that I am much taller,
For I reach right up to the sun,
With my eye;
And I reach to the shore of the sea
With my ear.
Neverthless, I dislike
The way ants crawl
In and out of my shadow.

IV

When my dream was near the moon,
The white folds of its grown
Filled with yellow light.
The soles of its feet
Grew red.
Its hair filled
With certain blue crystallizations
From stars,
Not far off.

Wallace Stevens, Ficção Suprema: Poemas, Luísa Maria Campos (tradução e prefácio), Assírio & Alvim, 1991.