Beneath the snowflakes I notice façadestheir bellies, they're out cold, instantaneouslyAgainst which we have been projected? What . . Traces of those deep cuts lie thickly uponand turn it into something cartoon-funny.What? What can you do?watching calisthenics from the grandstands.In a single floral stroke,They move against, or through, or by, or toward.Choces, Mère and Père, undreaming even of fieldsI am sleeping, and dreaming, and wandering alongEnd of the comedy.Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,Père and Mère Chose could be in conversationTraces of those deep cuts lie thickly uponBlurring the terrain,VII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His BayXIII. The Route to the NorthXVIII. The Northeast and Northwest Passages
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