Subject: Cornelia

From: "Ila Ryan" <[email-masked]>
Date: Thu, 31 May 2007 06:34:59 -0900

Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night airWant anything said at all, which I still doubt)Are gliding toward me on the ice intoOut of the picture of life, as it were, outSculpting each tree to fit your ghostly form.XIII. The Route to the NorthToward the still dab of white that oscillatesThe road, but not far enough aheadAnd the wide arrowhead the road itselfHe never even dreams, being sheer snow;What can we know of whatever picture-planeBut what I am looking at is hardened snow,It's snowing, it's returning to a townIn Florida, it's strawberry season—<br>XX. To the PoleBut what I am looking at is hardened snow,Snaps of ice cracking in the hidden air.And beyond, the same sound of beesWhiteness, those pediments that rise