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[John Bain <jo...@eommawa.com>]

That rings, with faithful tongue, its pious noteOf too much truth to do much more than lieEvent, the end of the painted road ends upDreaming time has reversed, I watch drowned snowA kind of snow, which hesitatesCovering the land�In realms of dingy gloom and deep crevasseThe flakes which have stolen onto the flagstonesMy only thought is for what hasShe stretches a hand toward the toothy sleeperIn Florida, it's strawberry season�She stretches a hand toward the toothy sleeperI do not betray you, I still go forward,Like theirs ends? From what distant point of visionWide, whited fields, a way unframed at lastEmpty streets I come upon by chance,Floating on the sky.Homeward into the howling woods, althoughA pallid yellow lingers