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Appendices
This perfection, this absence.
At the end of the road. Even if they are staring
I. Arctic Scenery
Down the road, at Cypress Gardens, a woman
Toward the still dab of white that oscillates
and the Splendid Splinter. For a few dreamy dollars,
In white, in paint too representative
III. Chronology of Northern Exploration
And still my mind goes groping in the mud to bring
Over the chilly dale.
In white, in paint too representative
Blurring the terrain,
That open before me? What I see
My soul lies cracked; and when, in its despair,
Toward . . . that seems to be the whispered question
Cuts out of its width (81). Unfair
they sit with their wives all day in the sun,
This perfection, this absence.