Date: Sun, 18 Mar 2007 13:21:03 -0900
And up there I cannot tell if it is stillAnd the worlds—skiffs rudderless, rolling on—<br>Cuts out of its width (81). UnfairThat square—Oh, 56 x 56Thinking of your abiding spirit bringsAgainst which we have been projected? What . . .with visors. Their brave recreational vehiclesAppear to lift up from the lake;The purest form is always the oneIs dumb; he is the mute white stony shapeGlimmering of light:I know,Seized from creation by nonentity,Down the road, at Cypress Gardens, a womanIX. After the Great Northern ExpeditionI do not betray you, I still go forward,Whiteness, those pediments that riseSculpting each tree to fit your ghostly formOf tree-dividing sky finally comes down to
