Mary

It is as though I were at a second threshold.
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
With my foot the supple ball, for perhaps
Sphinx of questioning substance, or a sort
From which, thanks to symmetry,
Left and right, and far ahead in the dusk.
XI. Franklin's Last Voyage
marked with a dark stroke from the left, encroached
then takes a step back, to be safe as she reaches.
at balls hit again and again toward her offspring.
with visors. Their brave recreational vehicles
Preface to the 1948 Edition
Allowing me to let your picture form and wake
Is it almost honey, is it snow?
Stars, the last day, endless and centerless,
And so I gaze avidly
As distant memories, through the fog-dimmed light,
Seen. What you know is only manifest
Coextensive with everything? How could they know?