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[Ilene Putnam]

Are gliding toward me on the ice intoGray the cloud-like oaksXII. The Mystery 
of the Missing Ships: The Franklin SearchIn realms of dingy gloom and deep 
crevasseMerely a mockery of springThis third day of our January thaw,The surge 
of swirling wind definesWhat? What can you do?XIV. Franz Josef Land: The 
Amazing Drift of the TegetthoffWhere does this all end? What is the 
vanishingBeneath the snowflakes I notice façadesIt's snowing, it's 
returning to a townshaded by live oaks and bottlebrush treesSculpting each tree 
to fit your ghostly form.with visors. Their brave recreational 
vehiclesCascading snowflakes settle in the pines,Seems reflected in the 
infinite of the lamps.What is there in the depths of these wallsAnd the 
worlds—skiffs rudderless, rolling on—

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