[Outbox] OEM to Retail

[nora goran]

Close at the end of distance the two Chose
Stars, the last day, endless and centerless,
Some stubborn sprouts up through the stubble hay,
Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeing
Wide, whited fields, a way unframed at last
That patch of white at the very end of the road
His sightless eyes horribly watch the air;
Close at the end of distance the two Chose
That neither the motionless farm couple trudging
watching calisthenics from the grandstands.
With my foot the supple ball, for perhaps
Lucky the bell—still full and deep of throat,
whose soft bristles graze the top-racks.
Summer bees were saying
So you can watch me watch uplifted snow
To run, as in the time of the bee, seeking
Blurring the terrain,
Not so much of place as of renewed hope,
To run, as in the time of the bee, seeking

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