Late February, and the air’s so balmy

shaded by live oaks and bottlebrush trees
In realms of dingy gloom and deep crevasse
with visors. Their brave recreational vehicles
Comes up with as a means to its own end.
Everywhere, utterly.
He never even dreams, being sheer snow;
A frame of glided twilight뾋
to matter, for the flushed boys are muscular
III. Chronology of Northern Exploration
She stretches a hand toward the toothy sleeper
In a single floral stroke,
Where does this all end? What is the vanishing
Late February, and the air’s so balmy
Bronze the sky, with no
Would their world not remain comfortably
Calling me to you with wild gesturings
In Winter Haven, the ballplayers are stretching
Coextensive with everything? How could they know?
The snowflakes are swirling, blotting out