Sunday, November 26, 2017


This room,
                 the circled wind
Straight air of dawn
                                   low noon
The darkness. Not within
The mound of these
Is anything
To fit the prying of your lips,
Or feed their wide bright flowering.

And yet will movement so exactly fit
Your limbs —
                    As snow
Fills the vague intricacies of the day, unlit
Before; so will your arms
                                                    Fall in the space
Assigned to gesture

                 (In the momentless air,
                 The distant adventurous snow)
-George Oppen, "II"

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