This snow arrives here as surprise, and
carries what in dimming distant sight?
How they flitter and shake coming down
as I dance stilly inside of my house not
for the loving it. But for the nothing else.
The green converges in a glass, and
blown itself the damn thing out. Trans-
parent, opaque...Any other condition or
make has seen a measure. Seen the time
to time of earthy pleasures in remembrance.
The lusty hold-back of some collectors,
their brokers. Has the wandering followers
in lines, and strains both growing longer
of the quiet collective. This lonliness to each
as flowers grown, but still ungerminated.
This path, it seems, though tended is
denatured, and well-trod.
