Sir star, Herr Lenz, white season body <br />master snapping masts in half, absent <br />winds’ workmanship: what window <br />will I look you through, what brook, stream <br /> <br />creaking past fretwork weeds, clouds <br />in the context of cold? Lord knot <br />to be untied, skiff hard alee ill winds: <br />a hiss of wish and cinders and I <br /> <br />am warm, crossing dazed oceans by hand <br />to sow the doubtful sea with drought. Mine <br />of rain and seize and sluice, you change <br /> <br />your mind again, a rage for green waves’ <br />open vowels, undrinkable. No talking <br />to the weeds, no talking with the snow.<br /><br />Reginald Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/manifest-3/
