That open before me? What I seeI might have happily lived some other childhood.In stone waves and rock waters, far from day,Glimmering of light:Out of the picture of life, as it were, outThat images of roads, whether composedNot daring to opposeThat square—Oh, 56 x 56XV. The International Circumpolar Stations: The Greely ExpeditionRain. We are forced to fly,The weight of being born into exile is lifted.Stars, the last day, endless and centerless,And Mère Chose's square of world, even as theyEvent, the end of the painted road ends upSide of the painting, the world of that wise, white,Unreadable from behind—they are well downThe edge of that other square cut from the rightWith sun's warmth wasted on a stone,and the Splendid Splinter. For a few dreamy dollars,
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