—Now that you notice it—have just moved past
With a hand freed from weight,
At the end of the road. Even if they are staring
What I have in my hands, these flowers, these shadows,
demonstrating their talent for comedy—stroke
Through the back of the picture at the patch of white
Only a whiter absence to my mind,
Against this sky no longer of our world.
He terrifies the Vast, he seems so wild;
trainer flips young alligators over on their backs,
Close at the end of distance the two Chose
This perfection, this absence.
To follow in the path of their brief blossoming
Dreaming time has reversed, I watch drowned snow
I am sleeping, and dreaming, and wandering along
XI. Franklin's Last Voyage
Snow haze gleams like sand.
The weight of being born into exile is lifted.
The road, but not far enough ahead
With a hand freed from weight,
At the end of the road. Even if they are staring
What I have in my hands, these flowers, these shadows,
demonstrating their talent for comedy—stroke
Through the back of the picture at the patch of white
Only a whiter absence to my mind,
Against this sky no longer of our world.
He terrifies the Vast, he seems so wild;
trainer flips young alligators over on their backs,
Close at the end of distance the two Chose
This perfection, this absence.
To follow in the path of their brief blossoming
Dreaming time has reversed, I watch drowned snow
I am sleeping, and dreaming, and wandering along
XI. Franklin's Last Voyage
Snow haze gleams like sand.
The weight of being born into exile is lifted.
The road, but not far enough ahead
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