He Said (the first fragment of a Gerald Stern poem)

Thank God for summer, he said, and thank God the window
was to his right and there was a wavy motion
behind him and a moon in the upper right corner
only four days old and still not either blowsy
or soupy.

Gerald Stern, "He Said," This Time

(I love this: still not either blowsy or soupy. How, inside a conversational poem, the original erupts and never shatters the tone.)