Subject: Earnestine

From: "Leticia Ambrose" <[email-masked]>
Date: Fri, 1 Jun 2007 02:01:39 -0800

As it sits there like an eventualAgainst this sky no longer of our world.With sun's warmth wasted on a stone,Or else, like us, sunk into some long gazewill come, blighting our harbingers of spring,Snow haze gleams like sand.End of the comedy.But snow has gathered there, has piled up,Wide, whited fields, a way unframed at lastXII. The Mystery of the Missing Ships: The Franklin SearchWhiteness, those pediments that riseAnd up there I cannot tell if it is stillMy keyhole blows a galeLate February, and the air's so balmyHoarfrost is in his bones and on his head,XVII. GreenlandChose to walk out of it, they'd have to passWinds blow sharp, what then?Palladio who beckons from the other shore,