But when, on the timepieces that we call
To pick up even the quickening of wind
—The place the road ends, that patch of white paint
References
shortcake, waffles, berries and cream
trainer flips young alligators over on their backs,
The weight of being born into exile is lifted.
snowdrops and crocuses might be fooled
References
Although December's frost killed the winter crop,
As if your absence now concluded long ago.
the foul pole relaxes. She's raged all afternoon
The edge of that other square cut from the right
The high whites spread over the buried earth.
VIII. Russia: The Great Northern Expedition
Wind, sleet. The branches sway,
Silent patch of ultimate paint. You are
What I have in my hands, these flowers, these shadows,
A matter of getting all that right . . .
To pick up even the quickening of wind
—The place the road ends, that patch of white paint
References
shortcake, waffles, berries and cream
trainer flips young alligators over on their backs,
The weight of being born into exile is lifted.
snowdrops and crocuses might be fooled
References
Although December's frost killed the winter crop,
As if your absence now concluded long ago.
the foul pole relaxes. She's raged all afternoon
The edge of that other square cut from the right
The high whites spread over the buried earth.
VIII. Russia: The Great Northern Expedition
Wind, sleet. The branches sway,
Silent patch of ultimate paint. You are
What I have in my hands, these flowers, these shadows,
A matter of getting all that right . . .
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