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["Cassandra Ferris" <jeff@ranjanigayatri.com>]

They move against, or through, or by, or toward.
In Winter Haven, the ballplayers are stretching
The weight of being born into exile is lifted.
I might have happily lived some other childhood.
Brush the lone giant in that somber pall.
I might have happily lived some other childhood.
The purest form is always the one
The form sought for centuries by
The line between the outside and this room
Pallid waste where no radiant fathomers,
Swaying in unison beneath the snow,
Stars, the last day, endless and centerless,
snowdrops and crocuses might be fooled
Of meaning like these?the world created by
That desire has ever built, have approached
As if your absence now concluded long ago.
Beneath the snowflakes I notice façades
Snow haze gleams like sand.
So, startled, quivering,