Having loved her built for me a great manse by the lake, in which in winter a bright pure white light fell over me during the days, and a deep violet like the color of one’s eyes closing for the last time. And trudging upon the frozen waters in cap, coat, and boots, still stripped bare by the wind, making my way out to the buoy tipped on its side and cemented in ice, I let it all work through me, snow-chinkles, moaning gusts, chilling sweat of my exertion. Let it hollow me out so there was nothing left but snow-chinkles, moaning gusts, chilling sweat, the shell of myself animated by pure bright white winter light. And I like the love had sublimed. Vapor in the air, frost crystals on an old man’s beard, the spring rains from the highlands and in the mires of mud upon the road.
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