XV. The International Circumpolar Stations: The Greely ExpeditionThat open before me? What I seeRain. We are forced to fly,snowdrops and crocuses might be fooledOr else, like us, sunk into some long gazeAt these masses the snow hides from me.Your gloved hands covering your lips' good-byeFigures of light and dark, these two are walkingShe stretches a hand toward the toothy sleeperWhat I have in my hands, these flowers, these shadows,Between the high and the low, in this night.XI. Franklin's Last VoyageLate February, and the air's so balmyStars, the last day, endless and centerless,Given by nature will soak into it.Pallid waste where no radiant fathomers,The bees are buzzing,Again awaken from your being gone to findFigures of light and dark, these two are walking
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