Out of the road into a way across
Side of the painting, the world of that wise, white,
Rain. We are forced to fly,
IV. The Paths to Cathay
Sought to contrive, intending to express
And the worlds—skiffs rudderless, rolling on—
In the woods, close by,
Life, or only joy, that stands out
snoozing. A schoolgirl on vacation gapes,
Grateful, I know, for just such compensations,
As distant memories, through the fog-dimmed light,
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
To reach out into its own vanishing
In Winter Haven, the ballplayers are stretching
What? What can you do?
Escapees from the cold work of living,
Whiteness, those pediments that rise
A rabbit carcass in its stiffened fur.
Astonished that you have returned to go