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That this mud draws on the stone.
the old men burnish stories of Yaz and the Babe
Oh you builders,
XII. The Mystery of the Missing Ships: The Franklin Search
My only thought is for what has
Archangel Winter, darkness on his back
One flash of eye, or blow one clarion-blast;
Of tree-dividing sky finally comes down to
will come, blighting our harbingers of spring,
But what I am looking at is hardened snow,
I've drifted somewhat from the distant heart
Are muffled into silence that refuses
II. List of Franklin Search Parties
Toward the still dab of white that oscillates
Late February, and the air's so balmy
Is dumb; he is the mute white stony shape
Covering the land—
XX. To the Pole
the old men burnish stories of Yaz and the Babe