Subject: Michael

From: "irena dyane" <[email-masked]>
Date: Fri, 4 May 2007 22:40:43 +0300

Swaying in unison beneath the snow,
Down the long course of the gray slush of things
watching calisthenics from the grandstands.
His sightless eyes horribly watch the air;
No name, no meaning. Oh my friends,
and the numbed yards will go back undercover.
Toward . . . that seems to be the whispered question
Appear to lift up from the lake;
A rabbit carcass in its stiffened fur.
More beautiful than anything in this world.
And Mère Chose's square of world, even as they
From point to point of meaning-open? closed?-
Set on that tomb in the eternal night;
Pierced by the mist that fades away,
-Now that you notice it-have just moved past
From which, thanks to symmetry,
With sun's warmth wasted on a stone,
II. Quest and Conquest
He never even dreams, being sheer snow;