I. Arctic Scenery Gray the cloud-like oakswith visors. Their brave recreational vehicles VII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His Bayand the Splendid Splinter. For a few dreamy dollars, I've drifted somewhat from the distant heartWhat I have in my hands, these flowers, these shadows, Of meaning like thesethe world created byFrom which, thanks to symmetry, Dismal, endless plain<BR>Want anything said at all, which I still doubt) That squareOh, 56 x 56Absurdly, my eyes can only see the arc My keyhole blows a galeEverywhere, utterly. And he is swathed in ever-petrified dread;When I am heard, and what I say is solely Wide, whited fields, a way unframed at lastBrush the lone giant in that somber pall.
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