30 Freezing I pick my way through a parking lot nearly full As a miscellaneous, chilly crowd straggles in. The sea is pale, a barely fluttering skin Of light, and everywhere, an uncomfortable Clearness and separateness to things, they have all Hardened in this sharp air, and I begin My run bleakly, not much helped out when A new girl jogger flashes me a smile For my weak smile; much less when I look off From the stones underfoot to where there glows The sun, low now and like a blurred red rose In its cold cloud. The cold moon clears the bluff, Full, and almost too bright to look into. I head home running moonlit through and through. 61