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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.