to restaurants for Early Bird Specials.
will come, blighting our harbingers of spring,
With sun's warmth wasted on a stone,
By the design of our own silent eyes
Blurring the terrain,
Whiteness, those pediments that rise
Wide, whited fields, a way unframed at last
What? What can you do?
So, startled, quivering,
Standing in the way of the truth. A white
Yes. You'd want that said, (if you
And I would like
The weight of being born into exile is lifted.
A pallid yellow lingers
Place of absorbing snow, itself to be
Sits at the limit of a kind of world
Where does this all end? What is the vanishing
In the sound of the snow. What the countless
Dim, and die tonight?