Out of the road into a way across
Alberti, Brunelleschi, Sangallo,
Everywhere, utterly.
By the design of our own silent eyes
wonders if she'd ever be brave enough
Green lilac buds appear that won't survive
For any part of them we can make out
Snow haze gleams like sand.
How bittersweet it is, on winter's night,
That open before me? What I see
Wind, sleet. The branches sway,
Coextensive with everything? How could they know?
Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeing
My only thought is for what has
VII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His Bay
The form sought for centuries by
Columbuses or Gamas, ever pass,
their bellies, they're out cold, instantaneously
VI. Smeerenburg and the Whale-Oil Rush
Alberti, Brunelleschi, Sangallo,
Everywhere, utterly.
By the design of our own silent eyes
wonders if she'd ever be brave enough
Green lilac buds appear that won't survive
For any part of them we can make out
Snow haze gleams like sand.
How bittersweet it is, on winter's night,
That open before me? What I see
Wind, sleet. The branches sway,
Coextensive with everything? How could they know?
Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeing
My only thought is for what has
VII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His Bay
The form sought for centuries by
Columbuses or Gamas, ever pass,
their bellies, they're out cold, instantaneously
VI. Smeerenburg and the Whale-Oil Rush
No hay comentarios.:
Publicar un comentario