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And Mère Chose's square of world, even as they
To watch me watch drowned snow lift from the lake.
As if your absence now concluded long ago.
A rabbit carcass in its stiffened fur.
Sculpting each tree to fit your ghostly form.
Glimmering of light:
From there. Toward . . .
Beneath a pile of corpses, lying massed
trainer flips young alligators over on their backs,
Of the matter of snow here. Both of us have grasped
Alberti, Brunelleschi, Sangallo,
Where, as I discover as I go through
In Florida, it's strawberry season—
(Our fortitude grows dim in
Merely a mockery of spring
This third day of our January thaw,
Columbuses or Gamas, ever pass,
This gap in time, this season not their own,
Rise, to the muffled chime of churchbell choir.