The winged winds, captives of that age-old foe
The edge of that other square cut from the right
In a single floral stroke,
Merely a mockery of spring
Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night air
Everywhere, utterly.
This perfection, this absence.
As if your human shape were what the storm
—Now that you notice it—have just moved past
Deep in the fog that quenches every ray,
III. Earliest Recorded Northern Explorers: The Greeks and the Vikings
shaded by live oaks and bottlebrush trees
Like theirs ends? From what distant point of vision
Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night air
and the Splendid Splinter. For a few dreamy dollars,
The snowflakes are swirling, blotting out
More beautiful than anything in this world.
Of the matter of snow here. Both of us have grasped
Beneath the snowflakes I notice façades