Date: Tue, 19 Dec 2006 17:44:37 -0180
To reach out into its own vanishing
XIV. Franz Josef Land: The Amazing Drift of the Tegetthoff
Still has to be intoned, as in a lonely
Like an old soldier, wakeful, in his tent!
I seek, above all, in the wandering
Shadows keep piling up as surfaces
Partly stone, partly the absence of stone,
The winter road from the St. Simeon farm
whose soft bristles graze the top-racks.
XIII. The Route to the North
Appear to lift up from the lake;
XX. To the Pole
I bring down a bit of its light
XIV. Franz Josef Land: The Amazing Drift of the Tegetthoff
Still has to be intoned, as in a lonely
Like an old soldier, wakeful, in his tent!
I seek, above all, in the wandering
Shadows keep piling up as surfaces
Partly stone, partly the absence of stone,
The winter road from the St. Simeon farm
whose soft bristles graze the top-racks.
XIII. The Route to the North
Appear to lift up from the lake;
XX. To the Pole
I bring down a bit of its light
