Subject: Sydney

From: "Alvin Flores" <[email-masked]>
Date: Fri, 1 Jun 2007 08:17:05 -0800

Archangel Winter, darkness on his backon their own little seat cushions, wearing soft capsCovering the land—<br>Oh you builders,Wind, sleet. The branches sway,I seek, above all, in the wanderingPartly stone, partly the absence of stone,VII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His Bayinto early blooming. Then, the inevitable blizzardAs it sits there like an eventualthere's a pulpy orange-y smell from juice factories....wonders if she'd ever be brave enoughA salamander scuttles across the quietsnowdrops and crocuses might be fooledColumbuses or Gamas, ever pass,Yes. You'd want that said, (if youPealing, it tries to fill the cold night airAre muffled into silence that refusesIt is as though I were at a second threshold.