from: Benito Kiser
time: 10:59 pm (11 hours ago)
to: flynnduism@gmail.com
date: Sep 28, 2007 10:59 PM
subject: 7sklr
To pick up even the quickening of wind
and the numbed yards will go back undercover.
In realms of dingy gloom and deep crevasse
XIII. The Route to the North
Along the walls are only empty niches,
Deep in the fog that quenches every ray,
Everywhere, utterly.
Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,
Wheel tracks entrench themselves in snow, yet painted
—The place the road ends, that patch of white paint
Away from their profundity of surface.
Dreaming time has reversed—and you,
The flakes which have stolen onto the flagstones
Close at the end of distance the two Chose
At the end of the road. Even if they are staring
Traces of those deep cuts lie thickly upon
Calling me to you with wild gesturings
To reach out into its own vanishing
Pierced by the mist that fades away,
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