Subject: Sophie

From: "kiah min" <[email-masked]>
Date: Fri, 23 Mar 2007 12:39:24 +0300

watching calisthenics from the grandstands.
Absurdly, my eyes can only see the arc
In the sound of the snow. What the countless
Toward something that the world is pointing toward
Your red cheeks radiant against the wind,
To pick up even the quickening of wind
It is as though I were at a second threshold.
the foul pole relaxes. She's raged all afternoon
But snow has gathered there, has piled up,
Unreadable from behind≈they are well down
Beyond ice floe and berg and ice-bound sea,
What I have in my hands, these flowers, these shadows,
V. The Dutch in the Arctic
Silent patch of ultimate paint. You are
Pallid waste where no radiant fathomers,
Appear to lift up from the lake;
But what I am looking at is hardened snow,
What can we know of whatever picture-plane
"Be off!" say Winter's snows;