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I've drifted somewhat from the distant heart IV. The Paths to CathayA pallid yellow lingers Toward something that the world is pointing towardAnd trumpet at his lips; nor does he cast And Mère Chose's square of world, even as theyBillows the fog, cloaks Snaps of ice cracking in the hidden air.Snow haze gleams like sand. with visors. Their brave recreational vehiclesPère and Mère Chose could be in conversation "Now it's my turn to sing!"III. Earliest Recorded Northern Explorers: The Greeks and the Vikings It is as though I were at a second threshold.Figures of light and dark, these two are walking And so I gaze avidlyLike some poor wounded wretch—long left for dead Sculpting each tree to fit your ghostly formI. Arctic Scenery