Wide, whited fields, a way unframed at lastNot daring to opposeFigures of light and dark, these two are walkingLate February, and the air's so balmyWhen Arctic winds crack down from CanadaI know,will be penciled on the coffeeshop menus.Onto my frozen fingers.The snowflakes are swirling, blotting outBronze the sky, with noCuts out of its width (81). UnfairBy the design of our own silent eyesWhat is there in the depths of these wallsThat neither the motionless farm couple trudgingAre muffled into silence that refusesEscapees from the cold work of living,Suddenly, in a savage, dreadful bend,Sought to contrive, intending to expressSeized from creation by nonentity,