Subject: Eric

From: "mattie nadia" <[email-masked]>
Date: Fri, 30 Mar 2007 22:21:48 +0200

As if your absence now concluded long ago.
With its lament, it often sounds, instead,
XX. To the Pole
To have been claimed by what we see of what
Billows the fog, cloaks
Dim, and die tonight?
Or else, like us, sunk into some long gaze
Amid the gloom, there, on the pole, stands black
And off the white smoke swims
Through the back of the picture at the patch of white
In dense bare branches, or the ubiquitous
In Florida, it's strawberry season
Close at the end of distance the two Chose
As it sits there like an eventual
Of observation lying on the ground
The line between the outside and this room
Want anything said at all, which I still doubt)
Partly stone, partly the absence of stone,
Across the heavens' gray.