---

This is not our ice.

This is not our weather.

Our circle is contaminated.

We eat meat needled with toxins,

breathe air infected with heat.

In the spirit world,

the ice is thick again and clean.

The drums, dances and stories

which held the ice together,

have fallen silent.

Waves are changing shape.

I can no longer draw a map from memory,

for the land changes faster

than I can blink.

At night the ocean screams.

We sit up, afraid to fall asleep,

afraid we'll wake with water

where our lungs should be.

Three moons ago, I came face to face

with Nanuq, as the last light

thumbed its way across the sky.

I could smell his rotting teeth.

His eyes were all fear.

He lay down before me and died.

The old ways disappeared

with his final breath.

I left him there, rocking gently

on melting ice, black water

licking at his nose.