Jan

As if your absence now concluded long ago.
Not daring to oppose
Snow haze gleams like sand.
Away, my songs, must we go
Allowing me to let your picture form and wake
By trees�or might see as the masonry
Snaps of ice cracking in the hidden air.
To a higher level of appearance.
The weight of being born into exile is lifted.
Left and right, and far ahead in the dusk.
What is there in the depths of these walls
"Be off!" say Winter's snows;
Snow haze gleams like sand.
The purest form is always the one
From point to point of meaning�open? closed?�
From there. Toward . . .
Hoarfrost is in his bones and on his head,
Toward something that the world is pointing toward
But when, on the timepieces that we call