-when Frost creeps in-

moving forward when Frost creeps in

in the middle between tree-rows

and streams of water where the path

is marginally described as opening—

like a lung,— snow

and ice melting at the trunks and

by the way,

addressing this nature loosely I might add

without the presence of his pastoral

saturation,— I mean

just the mention of

taking-up temporary residence, mr.
Natural just passin' thru,— skipping

the god-rock along the top of the water 

with not a pebble of consciousness to any of it

regarding

Frost because after all, I am an American

and I walk around looking at things but christ

there he is in the middle of my poem

draped in his tweed coat, heavier than himself, windy,

shaggy-

haired white

snow-mane dancing winter feathers

bent

head whispering at the margins of heaven something

nearing legible— sweet, as at the doorway to the doomed
inauguration and

christ, let him be

I said.

                                                           4/3/13