Ron

In Florida, it's strawberry season—
Bronze the sky, with no
Dim, and die tonight?
But snow has gathered there, has piled up,
That desire has ever built, have approached
Dismal, endless plain—
Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeing
with visors. Their brave recreational vehicles
Where does this all end? What is the vanishing
Choces, Mère and Père, undreaming even of fields
trainer flips young alligators over on their backs,
They tear apart the mist, it is as though,
II. List of Franklin Search Parties
How bittersweet it is, on winter's night,
By the design of our own silent eyes
Left and right, and far ahead in the dusk.
Merely a mockery of spring
Clear-voiced despite its years, strong, eloquent—
for a few weeks, statistics won't seem