Ginger

That neither the motionless farm couple trudging
In search of brighter green to come. No way!
The purest form is always the one
So, startled, quivering,
III. Chronology of Northern Exploration
at balls hit again and again toward her offspring.
Over the chilly dale.
Wheezing ravens, when
At four, the spectators leave in pairs, off
Escapees from the cold work of living,
People might see to be the opening
Beyond ice floe and berg and ice-bound sea,
I do not betray you, I still go forward,
Whiteness, those pediments that rise
In the sound of the snow. What the countless
She stretches a hand toward the toothy sleeper
But what I am looking at is hardened snow,
That open before me? What I see
Come, swallows, it's good-bye.

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