A Spam poem

In a spam mail that I got in October, I got this collection of words.  All the carriage returns are where they were, but I did move around the lines a little.  It's quite beautiful, and just right for the holiday season:

VII. Hudson and His Strait; Baffin and His Bay 

This drizzling three-day January thaw,

Covering the land— 

In dense bare branches, 

or the ubiquitous wind, sleet. 

The branches sway,    

Figures of light and dark, 

these two are walking their bellies, 

they're out cold, instantaneously 

Of a far barn, just where the road curves sharply 

Is dumb; he is the mute white stony shape   

Your gloved hands covering your lips' good-bye   

I've drifted somewhat from the distant heart 

giddy as good kids playing hookey.

Now, for a few weeks, statistics won't seem   

Late February, and the air's so balmy 

The pain of being born into matter. 

to restaurants for Early Bird Specials. 

To a higher level of appearance.

 By the design of our own silent eyes