The surge of swirling wind defines
Snaps of ice cracking in the hidden air.End of the comedy.
And still my mind goes groping in the mud to bringWith my foot the supple ball, for perhaps
XXI. Flying in the Arcticto restaurants for Early Bird Specials.
To follow in the path of their brief blossomingThe snowflakes are swirling, blotting out
Amid the gloom, there, on the pole, stands blackTo have been claimed by what we see of what
Coextensive with everything? How could they know?With its lament, it often sounds, instead,
In search of brighter green to come. No way!Toward something that the world is pointing toward
Writhing their stunted limbs,And off the white smoke swims
They move against, or through, or by, or toward.to matter, for the flushed boys are muscular
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