.
remember now the
shot crack as branches shatter
from cold, the whale-voice
.
of ice bending beyond
its tolerance. remember
the dark water, chips
.
in the ice fishing
hole catching against filament,
and the scratching
.
slush and squeak of snow
(oh, that crunch-creak
of snow) and the voice
.
of arctic stillness
descending with twilight, words
like orchestral coughs,
.
scandalous then, so
unnecessary. do you
remember fishing?
.
orphan poems 