Deep in the fog that quenches

Deep in the fog that quenches every ray,
Blurring the terrain,
As if your absence now concluded long ago.
Seen. What you know is only manifest
This third day of our January thaw,
Of Boyg of Normandy . . .
(Our fortitude grows dim in
Out of the road into a way across
(Our fortitude grows dim in
Where, as I discover as I go through
As if your absence now concluded long ago.
By bloody pool-rattling, gasping his last.
And beyond, the same sound of bees
Of observation lying on the ground
snoozing. A schoolgirl on vacation gapes,
That patch of white at the very end of the road
Right, and appears from here to be overcome
The purest form is always the one
Glimmering of light: