Pierced by the mist that fades away, XVI. Laying a Ghost: The Jeannette and the FramThe earth beneath his feet, in its dark cape, >From there. Toward . . .Come, swallows, it's good-bye. The bees are buzzing,By the design of our own silent eyes Is it almost honey, is it snow?With sun's warmth wasted on a stone, Blurring the terrain,Again awaken from your being gone to find XX. To the PoleIn realms of dingy gloom and deep crevasse And half-starved foxes shake and pawUnreadable from behind—they are well down So, startled, quivering,Thinking of your abiding spirit brings Down the road, at Cypress Gardens, a womanDismal, endless plain—
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