In the balmy night, in the night,
when the leaves rise until they are the stars,
I hear the women grow in the mauve penumbra
and the falling of the shade from their lids, drop by drop.
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This poem captured me with the second line THE LEAVES RISE UNTIL THEY BECOME STARS, and I stayed entranced by its figurative language until the end. The night is described as quiet and balmy, suggesting a passive repose, but it's really very active and transforming many things in an explosion of change, flights, things rising and falling. But I am struck with a fundament which is stable on which these metamorphoses occur. It's a paradox that so much activity can also convey a sense of calm in a balmy night.