Subject: Melisa

From: "misty marilyn" <[email-masked]>
Date: Thu, 26 Apr 2007 18:05:50 +0900

With sun's warmth wasted on a stone,
The high whites spread over the buried earth.
Sphinx of questioning substance, or a sort
Place of absorbing snow, itself to be
snowdrops and crocuses might be fooled
Along the walls are only empty niches,
Calling me to you with wild gesturings
Where does this all end? What is the vanishing
Homeward into the howling woods, although
When Arctic winds crack down from Canada
Whiteness, those pediments that rise
And so I gaze avidly
Onto my frozen fingers.
Wind, sleet. The branches sway,
visitors' dugout. The osprey whose nest is atop
Amid the gloom, there, on the pole, stands black
Hoarfrost is in his bones and on his head,
Amid the gloom, there, on the pole, stands black
Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeing