The Inuit hunter

superb words…

Bart Wolffe

THE INUIT HUNTER

An icefield of broken mirrors reflect back the splinters,

Attack the arctic explorer in a man who looses footing

In a glacial land adrift and blank with white. It is doubt

That leaves him inert beneath the vacuum sky

To suck his innards into the sterile drift of snow.

Now time has come to settle down for the slow winter sleep.

Not long ago before the liquids froze in polar extremes,

His kayak coasted through a moving land of floating floes

Towards an igloo’s blue-domed cave,

Whale-oil lamp burning hope in a caribou’s blade

And seal meat added to the blubbered fat

That wrapped him warm and safe on a blizzard night

And like their ancestral wolves.

Fed the sled dogs which slept outside.

Now that stars appear in a land of midnight sun,

The season of the Northern lights paints above

The kingdom of illusion as…

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