Subject: Noe

From: "sadye miriam" <[email-masked]>
Date: Wed, 28 Mar 2007 15:59:41 +0900

there's a pulpy orange-y smell from juice factories....
Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeing
visitors' dugout. The osprey whose nest is atop
Point, after all, when finally one reaches
"Be off!" say Winter's snows;
Wind, sleet. The branches sway,
In a single floral stroke,
My only thought is for what has
Brush the lone giant in that somber pall.
I do not betray you, I still go forward,
Stars, the last day, endless and centerless,
Glimmering of light:
Nor, indeed, the bit of paint itself can know of.
Glimmering of light:
Hoarfrost is in his bones and on his head,
Stunned in their voiceless way to be alive
VI. Smeerenburg and the Whale-Oil Rush
This gap in time, this season not their own,
Away, my songs, must we go