Empty streets I come upon by chance,
Rise, to the muffled chime of churchbell choir.
Shadows keep piling up as surfaces
Or else, like us, sunk into some long gaze
trainer flips young alligators over on their backs,
and the numbed yards will go back undercover.
Unreadable from behind�they are well down
Shadows keep piling up as surfaces
Of Boyg of Normandy . . .
VIII. Russia: The Great Northern Expedition
Nor, indeed, the bit of paint itself can know of.
Wide, whited fields, a way unframed at last
Suddenly, in a savage, dreadful bend,
Like some poor wounded wretch�long left for dead
He never even dreams, being sheer snow;
and preening, dancing on the basepaths,
I draw near to one of them, the lowest,
Introduction by Vilhjalmur Stefansson
In dense bare branches, or the ubiquitous
Rise, to the muffled chime of churchbell choir.
Shadows keep piling up as surfaces
Or else, like us, sunk into some long gaze
trainer flips young alligators over on their backs,
and the numbed yards will go back undercover.
Unreadable from behind�they are well down
Shadows keep piling up as surfaces
Of Boyg of Normandy . . .
VIII. Russia: The Great Northern Expedition
Nor, indeed, the bit of paint itself can know of.
Wide, whited fields, a way unframed at last
Suddenly, in a savage, dreadful bend,
Like some poor wounded wretch�long left for dead
He never even dreams, being sheer snow;
and preening, dancing on the basepaths,
I draw near to one of them, the lowest,
Introduction by Vilhjalmur Stefansson
In dense bare branches, or the ubiquitous
