Attack on the Artic

Snow haze gleams like sand.

With its lament, it often sounds,

Instead, my mind goes groping in the mud to bring stars

And still, the last day, endless and genderless,

Figures of light and dark…

It's snowing,

It’s returning to a town

Rattling, gasping its last.

Absurdly, my eyes can only see the arc

He never even dreams,

From point to point of meaning

—open? Closed?—

After all, when finally one comprehends…

Snow haze gleams like sand