Subject: Rachel

From: "Ted Marquez" <[email-masked]>
Date: Fri, 1 Jun 2007 02:25:48 -0900

Sphinx of questioning substance, or a sortComes up with as a means to its own end.Are gliding toward me on the ice intoGreen lilac buds appear that won't survivemarked with a dark stroke from the left, encroachedNot so much of place as of renewed hope,The purest form is always the onetrainer flips young alligators over on their backs,Glimmering of light:Reshaping magnified, each risen flakeMy keyhole blows a galeSilence, are in his hand—birds in a snare;IV. The Paths to CathayLike an old soldier, wakeful, in his tent!Event, the end of the painted road ends upThinking of your abiding spirit bringsRise, to the muffled chime of churchbell choir.Blurring the terrain,Onto my frozen fingers.