When I am heard, and what I say is solely
Of tree-dividing sky finally comes down toAt four, the spectators leave in pairs, off
shortcake, waffles, berries and creamNever does any motion, sound, or light
In Florida, it's strawberry season—Centimeters—that the height of the canvas
It is as though I were at a second threshold.Hoarfrost is in his bones and on his head,
Cuts out of its width (81). Unfair—Now that you notice it—have just moved past
The flakes which have stolen onto the flagstonesChoces, Mère and Père, undreaming even of fields
Astonished that you have returned to gotheir bellies, they're out cold, instantaneously
and preening, dancing on the basepaths,Dreaming time has reversed, I watch drowned snow
I draw near to one of them, the lowest,whose soft bristles graze the top-racks.