Coax the genial spirit
into yr leather
rucksack: no
jacket required when
the one-armed man
has already
broken the ice. Sacrifice
is the way of the
mainland. Out here
the fish are biting & our trees
are glazed with ice, sun
but a beach-ball skewered
by the sisyphean peaks;
your man in the frozen
waste, Tongarsuk's got yr nose
& your sinister arm, but
he has a right to own
his own bear arm, frozen
hake yanked up from full
fathom five; your father lies--
Tongarsuk's your daddy
up in the green ice
with surly mariners
& leprechauns. Follow
the shimmery spoor
to where the skies are cloudy
all the endless day.
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