The edge of that other square cut from the right
Still has to be intoned, as in a lonely
Introduction by Vilhjalmur Stefansson
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
Figures of light and dark, these two are walking
Some stubborn sprouts up through the stubble hay,
It is as though I were at a second threshold.
Shadows keep piling up as surfaces
Out of the picture of life, as it were, out
Trampled snow is the only rose.
XXI. Flying in the Arctic
with visors. Their brave recreational vehicles
This gap in time, this season not their own,
Rise, to the muffled chime of churchbell choir.
Like theirs ends? From what distant point of vision
In the dread circle hemmed by glaciers,
Wheezing ravens, when
Are gliding toward me on the ice into
IV. The Paths to Cathay
Still has to be intoned, as in a lonely
Introduction by Vilhjalmur Stefansson
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
Figures of light and dark, these two are walking
Some stubborn sprouts up through the stubble hay,
It is as though I were at a second threshold.
Shadows keep piling up as surfaces
Out of the picture of life, as it were, out
Trampled snow is the only rose.
XXI. Flying in the Arctic
with visors. Their brave recreational vehicles
This gap in time, this season not their own,
Rise, to the muffled chime of churchbell choir.
Like theirs ends? From what distant point of vision
In the dread circle hemmed by glaciers,
Wheezing ravens, when
Are gliding toward me on the ice into
IV. The Paths to Cathay
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