[Outbox] Tracey

[lois adelice]

As it sits there like an eventual
Where, as I discover as I go through
XI. Franklin's Last Voyage
IV. The Paths to Cathay
So, startled, quivering,
With my foot the supple ball, for perhaps
to matter, for the flushed boys are muscular
This gap in time, this season not their own,
By the design of our own silent eyes
Sits at the limit of a kind of world
To reach out into its own vanishing
And all at once it is the meadow I walked in at ten,
and the Splendid Splinter. For a few dreamy dollars,
XIV. Franz Josef Land: The Amazing Drift of the Tegetthoff
Still has to be intoned, as in a lonely
Side of the painting, the world of that wise, white,
snowdrops and crocuses might be fooled
And beyond, the same sound of bees
I do not betray you, I still go forward,

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