A pallid yellow lingers A matter of getting all that right . . .Blurring the terrain, Seen. What you know is only manifestIn Florida, it's strawberry season<BR> I might have happily lived some other childhood.Along the walls are only empty niches, I've drifted somewhat from the distant heartFrom point to point of meaningopen? closed?<BR> Of tree-dividing sky finally comes down toI've drifted somewhat from the distant heart Glimmering of light:XIII. The Route to the North And he is swathed in ever-petrified dread;on their own little seat cushions, wearing soft caps demonstrating their talent for comedystrokeBetween the high and the low, in this night. Wind, sleet. The branches sway,Place of absorbing snow, itself to be
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