8jmd3

Appendices
To mark that square, perhaps: were Mère and Père
Blurring the terrain,
The bees are buzzing,
XIV. Franz Josef Land: The Amazing Drift of the Tegetthoff
the old men burnish stories of Yaz and the Babe
Deep in the fog that quenches every ray,
Wide, whited fields, a way unframed at last
And Mère Chose's square of world, even as they
III. Chronology of Northern Exploration
And then I go on until I am beneath an archway,
The high whites spread over the buried earth.
"Now it's my turn to sing!"
Billows the fog, cloaks
That square—Oh, 56 x 56
A pallid yellow lingers
Columbuses or Gamas, ever pass,
This third day of our January thaw,
A matter of getting all that right . . .