Thank you to all the people sending me poetry. Presence, presents…get it? I really appreciate it and will try to post my favorites as I find time.

Meanwhile, I couldn’t help but notice this gem in my spam filter:

Covering the land—
Oh you builders,
shaded by live oaks and bottlebrush trees
Like some poor wounded wretch—long left for dead
Trampled snow is the only rose.
Not daring to oppose
In the woods, close by,
Reshaping magnified, each risen flake
And then I go on until I am beneath an archway,
Mère and Père Chose are walking away from the
Wide, whited fields, a way unframed at last
This drizzling three-day January thaw,
snowdrops and crocuses might be fooled
And piled up at the base of the columns
XIII. The Route to the North
The winged winds, captives of that age-old foe
In the woods, close by,
Or by the loud hand of painting, always puts.
their bellies, they’re out cold, instantaneously

I found some Victor Hugo in there, you?

Almost seems like a riddle of poets, or some kind of crypt that has to be deciphered by using famous poetry as the keys. Fun stuff, once you get past the spam bits.