My soul lies cracked; and

My soul lies cracked; and when, in its despair,
This third day of our January thaw,
with visors. Their brave recreational vehicles
XIX. Jones Sound and Beaufort Sea
Close at the end of distance the two Chose
grow hot in the parking lot, though they’re
That desire has ever built, have approached
Snow haze gleams like sand.
Sits at the limit of a kind of world
Place of absorbing snow, itself to be
Seen. What you know is only manifest
Before those virile women!
Upon from the right by far trees, that white place
And off the white smoke swims
At these masses the snow hides from me.
At four, the spectators leave in pairs, off
When I am heard, and what I say is solely
shortcake, waffles, berries and cream
Absurdly, my eyes can only see the arc