Rost, Metal Brave

                                                                                                      -On a mountainside in the Nora Sacred Lands

A shadow rolls over the icecap,
                smothers a lighthouse subsumed
by steel eclipse. Braids drape

the glass, solid cold so long ground
                 does not remember ground, the buried
do not remember the buried. At dawn,

hunger lapses, buds chrysalis out
                 of ash, and with a singular focus,
lush breeds lush in the warm hands of rust.

An heirloom, alloy, visits the grave, an exile
                 carefully forgotten. Like seashore air
biting brown against iron, against time, turn

your face to the sun and survive. The seed
                 sheds the scars of the father, the daughter
bears the scars for the seed.