I got up early, will fetch the SUnday NYT from the stoop, read a little, then snooze a little longer, which has me thinking Wallace Stevens (see below). Tabac Blond, from a generous sample sent by a generous friend, in the crook of each arm, just for me. Balahé by Leonard on neck and wrists. This well-mannered relative of Habnita makes that little bit of TB go a long way.
Sunday Morning (excerpt)—Wallace Stevens
Complacencies of the peignoir, and late
Coffee and oranges in a sunny chair,
And the green freedom of a cockatoo
Upon a rug mingle to dissipate
The holy hush of ancient sacrifice.
She dreams a little, and she feels the dark
Encroachment of that old catastrophe,
As a calm darkens among water-lights.
The pungent oranges and bright, green wings
Seem things in some procession of the dead,
Winding across wide water, without sound.
The day is like wide water, without sound,
Stilled for the passing of her dreaming feet...