Subject: Kris

From: "booth bari" <[email-masked]>
Date: Fri, 30 Mar 2007 15:44:53 -0500

Along the walls are only empty niches,
My only thought is for what has
And melt the spirit; his mouth will distend
Will sound, then the Lord's face will luminesce
VI. Smeerenburg and the Whale-Oil Rush
Between the high and the low, in this night.
The edge of that other square cut from the right
Life, or only joy, that stands out
That rings, with faithful tongue, its pious note
Away from their profundity of surface.
Toward something that the world is pointing toward
VIII. Russia: The Great Northern Expedition
With a hand freed from weight,
Of meaning like these-the world created by
It's snowing, it's returning to a town
I might have happily lived some other childhood.
Toward the still dab of white that oscillates
Amid the gloom, there, on the pole, stands black
Cuts out of its width (81). Unfair