This poem is taken from PN Review 23, Volume 8 Number 3, January - February 1982.
Summer1 It is so white.
It divides under the snow.
It wakes alone, a sensational pleasure.
2 Supposing this page is a paddock
under snow, or rather supposing
this page is snow
blanketing the paddock
then these lines
must be tracks in the whiteness
...
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