Antarctica

 

Like the first men, fear plunges its axis through.

Our scientists made a mistake.  Someone is hurt.

His artery hatch, open, spews out darts in the snow,

fruit lodged in clouds. Every fact turns its face towards

the earth.  We push altars of cold over carrying him

behind us.  Not even computers can help. Radios, haywire.

His reflection waits in a room of water. Its hand

caressing his hand.  A mouth pressed against what

used to be a mouth.  No words between them,

but kisses.  Kisses.