Opal

(Our fortitude grows dim in
What I have in my hands, these flowers, these shadows,
Hoarfrost is in his bones and on his head,
At four, the spectators leave in pairs, off
Homeward into the howling woods, although
there's a pulpy orange-y smell from juice factories....
Before those virile women!
Some stubborn sprouts up through the stubble hay,
Sought to contrive, intending to express
Only a whiter absence to my mind,
Introduction by Vilhjalmur Stefansson
Dreaming time has reversed, I watch drowned snow
My keyhole blows a gale
That square—Oh, 56 x 56
But what I am looking at is hardened snow,
I bring down a bit of its light
Swaying in unison beneath the snow,
Come, swallows, it's good-bye.
Sought to contrive, intending to express