at balls hit again and again toward her offspring.
Down the long course of the gray slush of things
Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night air
Are muffled into silence that refuses
To pick up even the quickening of wind
Absurdly, my eyes can only see the arc
XVII. Greenland
That patch of white at the very end of the road
Only a whiter absence to my mind,
Snow haze gleams like sand.
But when, on the timepieces that we call
And then I go on until I am beneath an archway,
So you can watch me watch uplifted snow
Still has to be intoned, as in a lonely
Is it almost honey, is it snow?
Suddenly, in a savage, dreadful bend,
This drizzling three-day January thaw,
Summer bees were saying
A salamander scuttles across the quiet
Down the long course of the gray slush of things
Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night air
Are muffled into silence that refuses
To pick up even the quickening of wind
Absurdly, my eyes can only see the arc
XVII. Greenland
That patch of white at the very end of the road
Only a whiter absence to my mind,
Snow haze gleams like sand.
But when, on the timepieces that we call
And then I go on until I am beneath an archway,
So you can watch me watch uplifted snow
Still has to be intoned, as in a lonely
Is it almost honey, is it snow?
Suddenly, in a savage, dreadful bend,
This drizzling three-day January thaw,
Summer bees were saying
A salamander scuttles across the quiet
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