Père and Mère Chose could be in conversation
Coextensive with everything? How could they know?
Yes. You'd want that said, (if you
Your gloved hands covering your lips' good-bye
Merely a mockery of spring
Is the moon to grow
Would their world not remain comfortably
Billows the fog, cloaks
Although December's frost killed the winter crop,
Where lamps are lit: these, too,
Beneath the snowflakes I notice façades
Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeing
In stone waves and rock waters, far from day,
In Florida, it's strawberry season—
and the Splendid Splinter. For a few dreamy dollars,
The flakes which have stolen onto the flagstones
And then I go on until I am beneath an archway,
whose soft bristles graze the top-racks.
Looms in the air, deliberate and slow,
Coextensive with everything? How could they know?
Yes. You'd want that said, (if you
Your gloved hands covering your lips' good-bye
Merely a mockery of spring
Is the moon to grow
Would their world not remain comfortably
Billows the fog, cloaks
Although December's frost killed the winter crop,
Where lamps are lit: these, too,
Beneath the snowflakes I notice façades
Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeing
In stone waves and rock waters, far from day,
In Florida, it's strawberry season—
and the Splendid Splinter. For a few dreamy dollars,
The flakes which have stolen onto the flagstones
And then I go on until I am beneath an archway,
whose soft bristles graze the top-racks.
Looms in the air, deliberate and slow,
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