Date: Fri, 7 Mar 2003 20:33:18 +0900
Where does this all end? What is the vanishing
Some stubborn sprouts up through the stubble hay,
Wheel tracks entrench themselves in snow, yet painted
To have been claimed by what we see of what
I do not betray you, I still go forward,
XIX. Jones Sound and Beaufort Sea
Of Boyg of Normandy . . .
XIII. The Route to the North
and chaste, lovely as lakes to the retired men
Or by the loud hand of painting, always puts.
Scrawny wolves, and you,
And the worlds—skiffs rudderless, rolling on?BR> Summer bees were saying
Stunned in their voiceless way to be alive
V. The Dutch in the Arctic
Only whirled snow heaped up by whirled snow,
with visors. Their brave recreational vehicles
Toward . . . that seems to be the whispered question
When I am heard, and what I say is solely