Lorine Niedecker

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
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