Bronze the sky, with no Where does this all end? What is the vanishingMy only thought is for what has Out of the picture of life, as it were, outAt these masses the snow hides from me. Seized from creation by nonentity,Like theirs ends? From what distant point of vision I draw near to one of them, the lowest,Covering the land—<BR> And I would likeCascading snowflakes settle in the pines, snoozing. A schoolgirl on vacation gapes,Astonished that you have returned to go At four, the spectators leave in pairs, offSculpting each tree to fit your ghostly form Of observation lying on the groundAlberti, Brunelleschi, Sangallo, Dismal, endless plain—<BR>In stone waves and rock waters, far from day,
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