Written by Jack Andrew Cribb

Delicate spring rolls of seal meat cascade into view,
the bruised and rustling sound of an
atlas’ carapace weeps into the snow,
above and below, a stained-glass window
hums, cracks, and throws its shards across a sea of loneliness.

For ten hours the relentless moan of an icebreaker is recorded,
it tells us that mortality is a journey filled with silence
and deafening sound, atlas sound,
ice thundering into deep blue quantum space,
where we search for little pockets of warmth,
and find less than we need but enough to get by.


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