There was a death. They came
wandering from the lower regions,
until they reached the top. Settled
and reborn, they melted the ice, warmed
the air, and outlived the day.

Snow fell. They built each cradle,
nursed the dirt with water, until
a speck formed wiggling itself
from the dirt; and the camp went
and turned and the snow fell.

Nights and snow and cold-
but they drank, their beards
keeping them warm. Fucked.
Fucked the cow, the deer, the bear.

The wind has joined the snow.
The air turned cold and black,
while the day, pulsing like a
choked vein, watches the tops of chimneys.