That rings, with faithful tongue, its pious note
I bring down a bit of its light
Sculpting each tree to fit your ghostly form.
In dense bare branches, or the ubiquitous
And then I go on until I am beneath an archway,
At the white place of the road's vanishing
High on this surface, guarding the edge of Père
Oh you builders,
III. Chronology of Northern Exploration
To pick up even the quickening of wind
Between the vertex that the far-lit gray
She stretches a hand toward the toothy sleeper
Looms in the air, deliberate and slow,
What? What can you do?
Not daring to oppose
then takes a step back, to be safe as she reaches.
I. Further Exploration of Spitsbergen
IV. The Paths to Cathay
Empty streets I come upon by chance,
