Gertrude

That only you and I can know. Les deux
for a few weeks, statistics won't seem
That open before me? What I see
Gray the cloud-like oaks
—Now that you notice it—have just moved past
And melt the spirit; his mouth will distend
At the white place of the road's vanishing
—Now that you notice it—have just moved past
Rain. We are forced to fly,
Dim, and die tonight?
Event, the end of the painted road ends up
I might have happily lived some other childhood.
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
A matter of getting all that right . . .
This gap in time, this season not their own,
VII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His Bay
Your gloved hands covering your lips' good-bye
Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night air
and preening, dancing on the basepaths,