Oh, I know. The snow. The effective snow
At the end of the road. Even if they are staring
End of the comedy.
In Florida, it's strawberry season—
And all at once it is the meadow I walked in at ten,
They move against, or through, or by, or toward.
And then I go on until I am beneath an archway,
Again awaken from your being gone to find
Hoarfrost is in his bones and on his head,
For any part of them we can make out
XV. The International Circumpolar Stations: The Greely Expedition
High on this surface, guarding the edge of Père
XVIII. The Northeast and Northwest Passages
Appear to lift up from the lake;
Are gliding toward me on the ice into
As it sits there like an eventual
Toward the still dab of white that oscillates
Of meaning like these—the world created by
They tear apart the mist, it is as though,