In Autumn is the August of the Soul

for Wallace Stevens


In autumn, we see things 

as imminent:


A sudden loss, slipping away, a

falling into immanence—

as death leaves us bare 

and capable of new loves,


As Pan thrusts nakedness 

onto the unclothed, imminence

seeking immanence takes

hope away from sorrows—


We find out what we are: 

imminence begetting

immanence, unmarked 

by thoughts or prose. 


In autumn is the august 

of the soul: a sinking from

what was, what has been 

into immanence rich and bold.