We’re already lost, here where the blue god of the ice
will make you believe that sea is sky, that sky is sea.
It’s too cold to think, to bring to mind how many words
the Inuit use to name the ice, that transient friend
who shifts its shape while, here in daylong night, we fix
our eyes upon a light we cannot see.
The edges have been taken from themselves, the world
unseamed, exposed, re-made as its own shroud.
***
The edges have been taken from themselves, the world
unseamed, exposed, re-made as its own shroud.
It’s too cold to think, to bring to mind how many words
the Inuit use to name the ice, that transient friend
who shifts its shape while, here in daylong night, we fix
our eyes upon a light we cannot see.
Here, where the blue god of the ice will make you believe
that sea is sky, that sky is sea, we’re already lost.
Hilary Hares
