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As if your human shape were what the storm
with visors. Their brave recreational vehicles
With its lament, it often sounds, instead,
Winds blow sharp, what then?
Two of us, Docteur and Madame Machin, who stand
Cuts out of its width (81). Unfair
XV. The International Circumpolar Stations: The Greely Expedition
Shadows keep piling up as surfaces
and preening, dancing on the basepaths,
VI. Smeerenburg and the Whale-Oil Rush
Hoarfrost is in his bones and on his head,
to restaurants for Early Bird Specials.
Chose to walk out of it, they'd have to pass
That this mud draws on the stone.
To listen, by the sputtering, smoking fire,
And then I go on until I am beneath an archway,
The form sought for centuries by
Archangel Winter, darkness on his back
Are gliding toward me on the ice into