Subject: Dewey

From: "cynthie hammad" <[email-masked]>
Date: Sat, 5 May 2007 11:36:45 +0900

Only a fox whose den I cannot find.
VII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His Bay
Like some poor wounded wretch뾩ong left for dead
In search of brighter green to come. No way!
Only a fox whose den I cannot find.
This third day of our January thaw,
That open before me? What I see
Seems reflected in the infinite of the lamps.
watching calisthenics from the grandstands.
Only a whiter absence to my mind,
Yes. You'd want that said, (if you
at balls hit again and again toward her offspring.
And the wide arrowhead the road itself
The line between the outside and this room
I. Arctic Scenery
Unreadable from behind뾲hey are well down
But snow has gathered there, has piled up,
Dismal, endless plain?BR> In the woods, close by,