And I would like
the foul pole relaxes. She's raged all afternoon
To run, as in the time of the bee, seeking
XI. Franklin's Last Voyage
The pain of being born into matter.
Stunned in their voiceless way to be alive
Snaps of ice cracking in the hidden air.
into early blooming. Then, the inevitable blizzard
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
Appendices
In search of brighter green to come. No way!
This third day of our January thaw,
Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeing
I. Arctic Scenery
Down the long course of the gray slush of things
Green lilac buds appear that won't survive
Allowing me to let your picture form and wake
High on this surface, guarding the edge of Père
Never does any motion, sound, or light