Subject: Margo

From: "betty timothee" <[email-masked]>
Date: Sat, 31 Mar 2007 14:47:06 +0900

Chose to walk out of it, they'd have to pass
M?e and P?e Chose are walking away from the
The road, but not far enough ahead
Reshaping magnified, each risen flake
Alberti, Brunelleschi, Sangallo,
Sculpting each tree to fit your ghostly form.
People might see to be the opening
The winter road from the St. Simeon farm
Your red cheeks radiant against the wind,
A kind of snow, which hesitates
And so I gaze avidly
to restaurants for Early Bird Specials.
And piled up at the base of the columns
To pick up even the quickening of wind
Want anything said at all, which I still doubt)
In search of brighter green to come. No way!
In realms of dingy gloom and deep crevasse
That this mud draws on the stone.
Is it almost honey, is it snow?