Sphinx of questioning substance, or a sort
My only thought is for what has
XXI. Flying in the Arctic
And I would like
A rabbit carcass in its stiffened fur.
This drizzling three-day January thaw,
A rabbit carcass in its stiffened fur.
Toward the still dab of white that oscillates
By the design of our own silent eyes
Across the heavens' gray.
III. Chronology of Northern Exploration
In the dread circle hemmed by glaciers,
wonders if she'd ever be brave enough
The winged winds, captives of that age-old foe
To mark that square, perhaps: were Mère and Père
V. The Dutch in the Arctic
Beneath the snowflakes I notice façades
I am sleeping, and dreaming, and wandering along
And half-starved foxes shake and paw
My only thought is for what has
XXI. Flying in the Arctic
And I would like
A rabbit carcass in its stiffened fur.
This drizzling three-day January thaw,
A rabbit carcass in its stiffened fur.
Toward the still dab of white that oscillates
By the design of our own silent eyes
Across the heavens' gray.
III. Chronology of Northern Exploration
In the dread circle hemmed by glaciers,
wonders if she'd ever be brave enough
The winged winds, captives of that age-old foe
To mark that square, perhaps: were Mère and Père
V. The Dutch in the Arctic
Beneath the snowflakes I notice façades
I am sleeping, and dreaming, and wandering along
And half-starved foxes shake and paw
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