Lara

In stone waves and rock waters, far from day,
And trumpet at his lips; nor does he cast
X. The British Attack on the Arctic
VI. Smeerenburg and the Whale-Oil Rush
Stars, the last day, endless and centerless,
And Mère Chose's square of world, even as they
To mark that square, perhaps: were Mère and Père
The pain of being born into matter.
and the Splendid Splinter. For a few dreamy dollars,
To pick up even the quickening of wind
So you can watch me watch uplifted snow
Close at the end of distance the two Chose
Rain. We are forced to fly,
watching calisthenics from the grandstands.
No name, no meaning. Oh my friends,
I know,
Wheezing ravens, when
That open before me? What I see
Is dumb; he is the mute white stony shape