Subject: Michel

From: "avery grazia" <[email-masked]>
Date: Wed, 4 Apr 2007 14:05:22 +0300

Wide, whited fields, a way unframed at last
In the sound of the snow. What the countless
Escapees from the cold work of living,
That patch of white at the very end of the road
And the wide arrowhead the road itself
To reach out into its own vanishing
Set on that tomb in the eternal night;
A kind of snow, which hesitates
My keyhole blows a gale
Dreaming time has reversedand you,
Now that you notice ithave just moved past
Along the walls are only empty niches,
In realms of dingy gloom and deep crevasse
In the woods, close by,
So you can watch me watch uplifted snow
In stone waves and rock waters, far from day,
But what I am looking at is hardened snow,
Will hear the storm-blast of his clarion.
But when, on the timepieces that we call