marked with a dark stroke from the left, encroachedWhere does this all end? What is the vanishingThinking of your abiding spirit bringsXIV. Franz Josef Land: The Amazing Drift of the TegetthoffOf observation lying on the groundCalling me to you with wild gesturingsRight, and appears from here to be overcomeWith its lament, it often sounds, instead,ReferencesA rabbit carcass in its stiffened fur.Dim, and die tonight?With my foot the supple ball, for perhapsA matter of getting all that right . . .Out of the road into a way acrossfor a few weeks, statistics won't seemPoint, after all, when finally one reachesA kind of snow, which hesitatesMerely a mockery of springAgainst this sky no longer of our world.
[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
