Is the moon to grow
And half-starved foxes shake and paw
The weight of being born into exile is lifted.
Point, after all, when finally one reaches
—Now that you notice it—have just moved past
I know,
Yes. The obvious
IX. After the Great Northern Expedition
Coextensive with everything? How could they know?
Away, my songs, must we go
Swaying in unison beneath the snow,
snowdrops and crocuses might be fooled
Across the heavens' gray.
Of observation lying on the ground
And the worlds—skiffs rudderless, rolling on—
IX. After the Great Northern Expedition
At San Biagio, in the most intense room
Silence, are in his hand—birds in a snare;
Will sound, then the Lord's face will luminesce