Cuts out of its width (81). Unfair
Figures of light and dark, these two are walking
My 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 gray
shortcake, waffles, berries and cream
Traces of those deep cuts lie thickly upon
Green lilac buds appear that won't survive
Again awaken from your being gone to find
to try that, to hold a terrifying beast
And still my mind goes groping in the mud to bring
Columbuses or Gamas, ever pass,
As if your human shape were what the storm
Along the walls are only empty niches,
Seen. What you know is only manifest
In dense bare branches, or the ubiquitous
And off the white smoke swims
the old men burnish stories of Yaz and the Babe
Snow haze gleams like sand.