Karyn

XIII. The Route to the North
Down the long course of the gray slush of things
To have been claimed by what we see of what
In stone waves and rock waters, far from day,
Before those virile women!
One flash of eye, or blow one clarion-blast;
"Be off!" say Winter's snows;
Scrawny wolves, and you,
Wide, whited fields, a way unframed at last
Again awaken from your being gone to find
Sits at the limit of a kind of world
In dense bare branches, or the ubiquitous
grow hot in the parking lot, though they're
for a few weeks, statistics won't seem
Amid the gloom, there, on the pole, stands black
Down the long course of the gray slush of things
With a hand freed from weight,
Preface to the 1948 Edition
Snow haze gleams like sand.