In white, in paint too representative
Covering the land—
Standing in the way of the truth. A white
The form sought for centuries by
Among us, only Alberti, then Sangallo,
Grateful, I know, for just such compensations,
—The place the road ends, that patch of white paint
Given by nature will soak into it.
As if your absence now concluded long ago.
with visors. Their brave recreational vehicles
Hoarfrost is in his bones and on his head,
The edge of that other square cut from the right
Only a whiter absence to my mind,
Your gloved hands covering your lips' good-bye
Appear to lift up from the lake;
I am sleeping, and dreaming, and wandering along
How bittersweet it is, on winter's night,
Oh you builders,
I seek, above all, in the wandering