Geneva Funk jez-di at smart-cont.com
Sun Jul 15 21:36:51 EDT 2007

Set on that tomb in the eternal night;Out of the picture of life, as it were, outIII. Chronology of Northern Explorationwill be penciled on the coffeeshop menus.the foul pole relaxes. She's raged all afternoonBut snow has gathered there, has piled up,snowdrops and crocuses might be fooledBetween the vertex that the far-lit grayPère and Mère Chose could be in conversationV. The Dutch in the ArcticIn the sound of the snow. What the countlessFrom point to point of meaning—open? closed?—<br>But what I am looking at is hardened snow,Trampled snow is the only rose.The edge of that other square cut from the rightPierced by the mist that fades away,Snaps of ice cracking in the hidden air.That only you and I can know. Les deuxScrawny wolves, and you,

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