XX. To the Pole Mère and Père Chose are walking away from theEvent, the end of the painted road ends up Floating on the sky.End of the comedy. At these masses the snow hides from me.I might have happily lived some other childhood. Cascading snowflakes settle in the pines,And then I go on until I am beneath an archway, II. List of Franklin Search PartiesStanding in the way of the truth. A white With sun's warmth wasted on a stone,To reach out into its own vanishing When I am heard, and what I say is solelySnow haze gleams like sand. To watch me watch drowned snow lift from the lake.A kind of snow, which hesitates —The place the road ends, that patch of white paintTo mark that square, perhaps: were Mère and Père
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