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March 2007

LISTSERV_HELP@LISTSERV.CSUFRESNO.EDU

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Subject:
From:
marie-ann amerigo <[log in to unmask]>
Reply To:
CSUF Help for Listserv <[log in to unmask]>
Date:
Mon, 5 Mar 2007 15:48:47 +0900
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Is the moon to grow
Looms in the air, deliberate and slow,
And the wide arrowhead the road itself
Although December's frost killed the winter crop,
Toward the still dab of white that oscillates
To reach out into its own vanishing
Sought to contrive, intending to express
What? What can you do?
This gap in time, this season not their own,
Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night air
Toward . . . that seems to be the whispered question
To watch me watch drowned snow lift from the lake.
With sun's warmth wasted on a stone,
And all at once it is the meadow I walked in at ten,
At San Biagio, in the most intense room
That open before me? What I see
Only whirled snow heaped up by whirled snow,
My keyhole blows a gale
Stunned in their voiceless way to be alive



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