enter no(silence is the blood whose flesh
is singing)silence:but unsinging.   In
spectral such hugest how hush,one

dead leaf stirring makes a crash

--far away (as far as alive)lies
april;and i breathe-move-and-seem some
perpetual roaming whylessness--

autumn has gone:will winter never come?

o come,terrible anonymity;enfold
phantom me with murdering minus of cold
--open this ghost with millionary knives of wind--
scatter his nothing all over what angry skies and

gently
         (very whiteness:absolute peace,
never imaginable mystery)
                                        descend

e e cummings