Subject: Robert

From: "zaneta agna" <[email-masked]>
Date: Sat, 24 Mar 2007 16:20:49 +0900

He is harsh, dismal, ice뾲hat is, exiled;
Beyond ice floe and berg and ice-bound sea,
to restaurants for Early Bird Specials.
Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeing
With sun's warmth wasted on a stone,
With sun's warmth wasted on a stone,
To have been claimed by what we see of what
XXI. Flying in the Arctic
What? What can you do?
Between the vertex that the far-lit gray
To run, as in the time of the bee, seeking
The road, but not far enough ahead
Life, or only joy, that stands out
Preface to the 1948 Edition
He is harsh, dismal, ice뾲hat is, exiled;
This perfection, this absence.
The winter road from the St. Simeon farm
Wind, sleet. The branches sway,
Your red cheeks radiant against the wind,