Charles

The winter road from the St. Simeon farm
XV. The International Circumpolar Stations: The Greely Expedition
Lucky the bell�still full and deep of throat,
giddy as good kids playing hookey. Now,
and chaste, lovely as lakes to the retired men
But snow has gathered there, has piled up,
Of too much truth to do much more than lie
Dreaming time has reversed�and you,
The pain of being born into matter.
Is the moon to grow
Where lamps are lit: these, too,
They tear apart the mist, it is as though,
That only you and I can know. Les deux
As it sits there like an eventual
XIX. Jones Sound and Beaufort Sea
Only a fox whose den I cannot find.
As if your human shape were what the storm
From point to point of meaning�open? closed?�
To watch me watch drowned snow lift from the lake.