Darnell

Toward something that the world is pointing toward
XIII. The Route to the North
Seized from creation by nonentity,
Where does this all end? What is the vanishing
Merely a mockery of spring
This third day of our January thaw,
He never even dreams, being sheer snow;
XIV. Franz Josef Land: The Amazing Drift of the Tegetthoff
The mortal architect had brought to life,
And melt the spirit; his mouth will distend
Will sound, then the Lord's face will luminesce
Are muffled into silence that refuses
I draw near to one of them, the lowest,
The flakes which have stolen onto the flagstones
I've drifted somewhat from the distant heart
The face of a Quos ego),
Away, my songs, must we go
Coextensive with everything? How could they know?
"Now it's my turn to sing!"