The poem’s long and meditative lines wind in delicate and contemplative music, often interrupted by caesura and syntactical ghosts. The speaker in a thawing dreamscape spies apparitions, real and imagined yearnings, that interrupt a self also transitioning as the season moves from a blurry thaw to a legibility that is somehow still just beyond reach. Rather than distancing, the mystery of the poem beckons the reader in, inviting the reader to cross from one plane to the next.
