By trees—or might see as the masonry
Seems reflected in the infinite of the lamps.
I might have happily lived some other childhood.
and the numbed yards will go back undercover.
From point to point of meaning—open? closed?—
Wind, sleet. The branches sway,
But what I am looking at is hardened snow,
they sit with their wives all day in the sun,
At San Biagio, in the most intense room
Gray the cloud-like oaks
A frame of glided twilight—I
Given by nature will soak into it.
Again awaken from your being gone to find
As if your human shape were what the storm
She stretches a hand toward the toothy sleeper
Dim, and die tonight?
Your gloved hands covering your lips' good-bye
Coextensive with everything? How could they know?
The flakes which have stolen onto the flagstones