Subject: Grace

From: "imogen frederic" <[email-masked]>
Date: Sat, 31 Mar 2007 21:14:23 +0900

In white, in paint too representative
뾐ow that you notice it뾥ave just moved past
Where does this all end? What is the vanishing
To reach out into its own vanishing
Upon from the right by far trees, that white place
Oh, I know. The snow. The effective snow
The surge of swirling wind defines
Snaps of ice cracking in the hidden air.
Snow haze gleams like sand.
Out of the road into a way across
"Be off!" say Winter's snows;
What? What can you do?
How bittersweet it is, on winter's night,
VI. Smeerenburg and the Whale-Oil Rush
And all at once it is the meadow I walked in at ten,
With its lament, it often sounds, instead,
Given by nature will soak into it.
snowdrops and crocuses might be fooled
Is it almost honey, is it snow?