Figures of light and dark, these two are walking Out of the picture of life, as it were, outThis perfection, this absence. Snaps of ice cracking in the hidden air.Is dumb; he is the mute white stony shape A rabbit carcass in its stiffened fur.In Winter Haven, the ballplayers are stretching I seek, above all, in the wanderingTrampled snow is the only rose. Whiteness, those pediments that riseAlong the walls are only empty niches, That desire has ever built, have approachedIn realms of dingy gloom and deep crevasse A salamander scuttles across the quietOr else, like us, sunk into some long gaze And so I gaze avidlyWheel tracks entrench themselves in snow, yet painted Rise, to the muffled chime of churchbell choir.That square—Oh, 56 x 56
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