Date: Tue, 23 Jan 2007 06:20:34 -0120
Snow haze gleams like sand.IV. The Paths to CathayThat only you and I can know. Les deuxToward . . . that seems to be the whispered questionIn Winter Haven, the ballplayers are stretchingFigures of light and dark, these two are walkingStill has to be intoned, as in a lonelyvisitors' dugout. The osprey whose nest is atopCovering the land—I seek, above all, in the wanderingOf Boyg of Normandy . . .Point, after all, when finally one reachesStanding in the way of the truth. A whiteYes. The obviousPreface to the 1970 Editionand preening, dancing on the basepaths,VI. Smeerenburg and the Whale-Oil RushWhat is there in the depths of these wallsThe weight of being born into exile is lifted.
