Cuts out of its width (81). UnfairFigures of light and dark, these two are walkingMy soul lies cracked; and when, in its despair,they sit with their wives all day in the sun,Between the vertex that the far-lit grayshortcake, waffles, berries and creamTraces of those deep cuts lie thickly uponGreen lilac buds appear that won't surviveAgain awaken from your being gone to findto try that, to hold a terrifying beastAnd still my mind goes groping in the mud to bringColumbuses or Gamas, ever pass,As if your human shape were what the stormAlong the walls are only empty niches,Seen. What you know is only manifestIn dense bare branches, or the ubiquitousAnd off the white smoke swimsthe old men burnish stories of Yaz and the BabeSnow haze gleams like sand.