Alberti, Brunelleschi, Sangallo,
Rain. We are forced to fly,Summer bees were saying
Silence. Your way of being. Your way of seeingXVIII. The Northeast and
Northwest Passages
Billows the fog, cloaksWhere, as I discover as I go through
Like theirs ends? From what distant point of visionAlberti, Brunelleschi,
Sangallo,
Two of us, Docteur and Madame Machin, who standGlimmering of light:
Green lilac buds appear that won't surviveSo you can watch me watch uplifted
snow
Grateful, I know, for just such compensations,Pealing, it tries to fill the
cold night air
Archangel Winter, darkness on his backWide, whited fields, a way unframed at
last
That only you and I can know. Les deuxWhat can we know of whatever picture-plane
[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]
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