Wide, whited fields, a way unframed at last
Not daring to oppose
Figures of light and dark, these two are walking
Late February, and the air's so balmy
When Arctic winds crack down from Canada
I know,
will be penciled on the coffeeshop menus.
Onto my frozen fingers.
The snowflakes are swirling, blotting out
Bronze the sky, with no
Cuts out of its width (81). Unfair
By the design of our own silent eyes
What is there in the depths of these walls
That neither the motionless farm couple trudging
Are muffled into silence that refuses
Escapees from the cold work of living,
Suddenly, in a savage, dreadful bend,
Sought to contrive, intending to express
Seized from creation by nonentity,