=========== Dark Ice ===========

Part VI	VI

	Somehow I don't feel elegiac, A pile of books in front of me In prose that turns the most prosaic Things into--well, poetry. Sunlight wobbles, fritillary (All its yellow stipples vary)

260	Over vowel-scattered trails That grade into those fairytales Of "follies tricked out so brightly that they" Blend into the blinding page-- It's difficult to disengage-- When birds forget glass-dazzle's flat, they Feel your pane. This cold can scorch. (A rake leans near a rented porch.)	Titles Part I Notes I Part II Notes II Part III Notes III Part IV Notes IV Part V Notes V Part VI Notes VI Part VII Notes VII Part VIII Notes VIII Part IX Notes IX Part X Notes X Part XI Notes XI Part XII Notes XII ©, Acknowledgments The Author


Part V	Part VII