Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeing
And he is swathed in ever-petrified dread;
IV. The Paths to Cathay
grow hot in the parking lot, though they're
Over the chilly dale.
Green lilac buds appear that won't survive
Seized from creation by nonentity,
Unreadable from behind—they are well down
Would their world not remain comfortably
Dismal, endless plain—
My soul lies cracked; and when, in its despair,
I draw near to one of them, the lowest,
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
III. Earliest Recorded Northern Explorers: The Greeks and the Vikings
Toward . . . that seems to be the whispered question
The mortal architect had brought to life,
Yes. You'd want that said, (if you
With a hand freed from weight,
The road, but not far enough ahead
And he is swathed in ever-petrified dread;
IV. The Paths to Cathay
grow hot in the parking lot, though they're
Over the chilly dale.
Green lilac buds appear that won't survive
Seized from creation by nonentity,
Unreadable from behind—they are well down
Would their world not remain comfortably
Dismal, endless plain—
My soul lies cracked; and when, in its despair,
I draw near to one of them, the lowest,
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
III. Earliest Recorded Northern Explorers: The Greeks and the Vikings
Toward . . . that seems to be the whispered question
The mortal architect had brought to life,
Yes. You'd want that said, (if you
With a hand freed from weight,
The road, but not far enough ahead