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C A P T I O N But where are the snows of yester-year? —françois villon One less body is lost in snow The dying one (in time) becomes a landscape, do you remember how it came about? Snow unlike glass, glass unlike a corpse Moon unlike a torso boldly colored in with bark, with slate, with soil breaking up in the furrows of another eroding shape Or a severed line, bringing us together for the first time March unlike Spring or an almanac out of date, nomenclature: everywhere Evidence, perception, conclusion Unlike a dull pool on a brown tire track, earlier I said landscape 58 59 How did it come about? Grief unlike truth, truth unlike snow Body unlike its outline ...

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