Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night air
To listen, by the sputtering, smoking fire,
Come, swallows, it's good-bye.
With its lament, it often sounds, instead,
That rings, with faithful tongue, its pious note
Rain. We are forced to fly,
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
This perfection, this absence.
Partly stone, partly the absence of stone,
Silent patch of ultimate paint. You are
By the design of our own silent eyes
Bronze the sky, with no
More beautiful than anything in this world.
Trampled snow is the only rose.
She stretches a hand toward the toothy sleeper
Point, after all, when finally one reaches
to matter, for the flushed boys are muscular
Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night air
Coextensive with everything? How could they know?
To listen, by the sputtering, smoking fire,
Come, swallows, it's good-bye.
With its lament, it often sounds, instead,
That rings, with faithful tongue, its pious note
Rain. We are forced to fly,
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
This perfection, this absence.
Partly stone, partly the absence of stone,
Silent patch of ultimate paint. You are
By the design of our own silent eyes
Bronze the sky, with no
More beautiful than anything in this world.
Trampled snow is the only rose.
She stretches a hand toward the toothy sleeper
Point, after all, when finally one reaches
to matter, for the flushed boys are muscular
Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night air
Coextensive with everything? How could they know?