I summoned the flat constant snow
and grow upwards in the form of an apparition —
meaning shape was insubstantial, yet informed
with a desire to ruin space by virtue of collapsing
an emptiness, speaking the cold tongue weather
manages to chatter at the bone. Wearing leather
in the Antarctic desert, I farmed a dismal boon
of Nature, stunning in white gowns drawn from
the sliding pelts of struck-down creatures mewing.
This drenched yard, slaughter-bright, enchanted
the polar star, pointing a light finger at my engine,
my humming sled, permanent and sleek, inhuman.