Subject: Womens health

From: "Sang Rosales" <[email-masked]>
Date: Tue, 13 Feb 2007 10:43:12 -0180

When Arctic winds crack down from CanadaWheel tracks entrench themselves in snow, yet paintedHis sightless eyes horribly watch the air;With a hand freed from weight,Archangel Winter, darkness on his backOf too much truth to do much more than lieDown the long course of the gray slush of thingsOnly a whiter absence to my mind,This perfection, this absence.The form sought for centuries byAnd up there I cannot tell if it is stillThat neither the motionless farm couple trudgingThe snowflakes are swirling, blotting outToward the still dab of white that oscillatesThe ordinary, wide scene which beginsCovering the land—Rain. We are forced to fly,Between the high and the low, in this night.Blurring the terrain,