In My Home State

After Wallace Stevens

Wearing a watch and glasses

Walking through the old woods,

I found a jar left littered

Atop a high hill in Tennesse.

Stretched out upon that jar

I stood, with all the trees.

Or at least we did

From where I stood.

The jar was full of air

And perhaps if one bent down

The amplified sound of the wind

Like the far-off Florida surf.