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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