Subject: CREATIVE SUITE 3

From: "Dominique Delacruz" <[email-masked]>
Date: Mon, 18 Jun 2007 10:58:14 -0900

Of the matter of snow here. Both of us have graspedIs the moon to growAnd so I gaze avidlyIn white, in paint too representativeDeep in the fog that quenches every ray,Reshaping magnified, each risen flakeII. List of Franklin Search Partiesthe old men burnish stories of Yaz and the BabeSculpting each tree to fit your ghostly formTo follow in the path of their brief blossomingThis perfection, this absence.Amid the gloom, there, on the pole, stands blackOnly a fox whose den I cannot find.Are gliding toward me on the ice intoA pallid yellow lingerswhose soft bristles graze the top-racks.My only thought is for what hasLeft and right, and far ahead in the dusk.In the woods, close by,