Seagulls in snow--
The new year comes
on white wings

with incomprehensible cry--

Above the low palaver of the waves.
he gray sea gnawing its sugared shore.

Such consolations removed--
grandfather, child, home
buried or gone, though snow arcs
in a slow sift from the roof,
leaving us whole in a blotted landscape,
as if something would spare us for another year.

Spruce woods drown in the bay's white metamorphosis--

And the dish of water
in the yard, where the dog slakes himself in spring--
When stars come,they catch in its shag of ice,
the great heaven caught in the small.