Subject: Doris

From: "corrinne rouvin" <[email-masked]>
Date: Sat, 31 Mar 2007 15:21:18 +0300

Standing in the way of the truth. A white
Bronze the sky, with no
Absurdly, my eyes can only see the arc
Palladio who beckons from the other shore,
Absurdly, my eyes can only see the arc
X. The British Attack on the Arctic
With its lament, it often sounds, instead,
They move against, or through, or by, or toward.
Although December's frost killed the winter crop,
Gray the cloud-like oaks
It's snowing, it's returning to a town
Introduction by Vilhjalmur Stefansson
Over the chilly dale.
Although December's frost killed the winter crop,
Late February, and the air's so balmy
Your gloved hands covering your lips' good-bye
I am sleeping, and dreaming, and wandering along
This perfection, this absence.
Suddenly, in a savage, dreadful bend,