Neva

The weight of being born into exile is lifted.
Partly stone, partly the absence of stone,
Merely a mockery of spring
trainer flips young alligators over on their backs,
VIII. Russia: The Great Northern Expedition
Of the matter of snow here. Both of us have grasped
Like an old soldier, wakeful, in his tent!
Dreaming time has reversed, I watch drowned snow
they sit with their wives all day in the sun,
By the design of our own silent eyes
XX. To the Pole
Hoarfrost is in his bones and on his head,
Empty streets I come upon by chance,
Blurring the terrain,
XXI. Flying in the Arctic
and preening, dancing on the basepaths,
Against which we have been projected? What . . .
How can they get the point of how a world
And the wide arrowhead the road itself