Linnaeus in Lapland
Nothing worth noting
except an Andromeda
with quadrangular shoots—
the boots
of the people
wet inside: they must swim
to church thru the floods
or be taxed—the blossoms
from the bosoms
of the leaves
*
Fog—thick morning—
I see only
where I now walk. I carry
my clarity
with me.
*
Hear
where her snow—grave is
the You
ah you
of mourning doves
