Writhing their stunted limbs,
Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night air
Or else, like us, sunk into some long gaze
Dreaming time has reversedand you,
The earth beneath his feet, in its dark cape,
IX. After the Great Northern Expedition
With its lament, it often sounds, instead,
Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night air
The bees are buzzing,
Only whirled snow heaped up by whirled snow,
I draw near to one of them, the lowest,
Given by nature will soak into it.
Alberti, Brunelleschi, Sangallo,
XVI. Laying a Ghost: The Jeannette and the Fram
Beneath the snowflakes I notice façades
To run, as in the time of the bee, seeking
Blurring the terrain,
Toward something that the world is pointing toward
Out of the road into a way across
Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night air
Or else, like us, sunk into some long gaze
Dreaming time has reversedand you,
The earth beneath his feet, in its dark cape,
IX. After the Great Northern Expedition
With its lament, it often sounds, instead,
Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night air
The bees are buzzing,
Only whirled snow heaped up by whirled snow,
I draw near to one of them, the lowest,
Given by nature will soak into it.
Alberti, Brunelleschi, Sangallo,
XVI. Laying a Ghost: The Jeannette and the Fram
Beneath the snowflakes I notice façades
To run, as in the time of the bee, seeking
Blurring the terrain,
Toward something that the world is pointing toward
Out of the road into a way across