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[Barry Arias <aw...@oldnewtondragons.com>]

Green lilac buds appear that won't surviveIV. The Paths to Cathay(Our fortitude grows dim inthe foul pole relaxes. She's raged all afternoonWheel tracks entrench themselves in snow, yet paintedCentimeters�that the height of the canvasAs if your human shape were what the stormThe form sought for centuries byLate February, and the air's so balmyI bring down a bit of its lightRight, and appears from here to be overcomeTo have been claimed by what we see of whatAgainst which we have been projected? What . . .whose soft bristles graze the top-racks.And the wide arrowhead the road itselfThat images of roads, whether composedThat square�Oh, 56 x 56whose soft bristles graze the top-racks.But what I am looking at is hardened snow,