Gone is Ursus Maritimus, Sea Bear,
Isbjorn, Lord of the Arctic,
White Bear, Ice Bear, Nanuq.

Gone is Seal's Dread, Rider of Icebergs,
Whale's Bane, Sailor of the Floe,
Tornassuk, White Sea Deer.

Gone is Bear of the North,
The Ever Wandering One.

In the Arctic, the ice is melting,
blurring like dirty glass giving way
to shimmering heat waves and
miles of open water.

The skinny Arctic fox waits,
flag ears erect. He looks for
that familiar silhouette
on the horizon.

He snaps at air to stop his jaws
from weakening.

Down wind, bodies of seals
quietly rot under an angry sun.

We have walked away
from our circle, past the tree line.

We have shed our parkas,
buried the words of our shaman,
shot our dogs while looking
in the other direction.

We are solid, tense and awkward
in the new world. Darkness oozes
into our open souls, sits on our
chests like blood gone bad.

The air is becoming sour in the arctic.
All life left there grows weaker.

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