Isaac

Wide, whited fields, a way unframed at last
Dim, and die tonight?
Everywhere, utterly.
Green lilac buds appear that won't survive
And beyond, the same sound of bees
Its consciousness of my white consciousness,
Dim, and die tonight?
into early blooming. Then, the inevitable blizzard
Hoarfrost is in his bones and on his head,
In search of brighter green to come. No way!
Appear to lift up from the lake;
XIII. The Route to the North
Swaying in unison beneath the snow,
Down the road, at Cypress Gardens, a woman
Only a fox whose den I cannot find.
"Now it's my turn to sing!"
A kind of snow, which hesitates
Of observation lying on the ground
(Our fortitude grows dim in