Gerald Manly Hopkins Frozen to the Appalachian Ground, Ice Cold

Spinning orbital outer spacework froze the ground outside last night and changed everything into sturdier stalks from "fresh firecoal,[walnut] falls, finches wings, fold, fallow and [frosty] plow, landscapes plotted and pieced, and all trades, their gear and tackle and trim," sleepier bees lethargic waspers, and nasalwake gusts into the inside my face cavaties, first thing, while countering with hot black coffee.