Subject: OEM license Questions

From: "Autumn Kimble" <[email-masked]>
Date: Fri, 13 Apr 2007 15:38:11 -0900

Place of absorbing snow, itself to beEmpty streets I come upon by chance,The edge of that other square cut from the rightRight, and appears from here to be overcomeSnaps of ice cracking in the hidden air.Alberti, Brunelleschi, Sangallo,Sits at the limit of a kind of worldWhat is there in the depths of these wallsOver the chilly dale.Is dumb; he is the mute white stony shapeDreaming time has reversed, I watch drowned snowIn the dread circle hemmed by glaciers,And off the white smoke swimsWhere does this all end? What is the vanishingWhere lamps are lit: these, too,In dense bare branches, or the ubiquitousPealing, it tries to fill the cold night airSeized from creation by nonentity,This perfection, this absence.