Arctic melt is necromantic whirling renaissance: river-rush saltwater drag.

 

I can’t see the sky! This now banal smoking soup in the sky

Billowing portensions of goning large masses, oily compact diamonds

Once rough-ready now burning readily, brightly no longer.

Bugbear Bugbear Bugbear — keep out these cannaled gemstones!

 

And they are bobbing up and down

 

And they are bobbing up and down, in the boat

Two of them, floating canal-creatured

Amongst lake lessons fluxed less solidly

      in dark expanses supervened by the spec

Inspected and spectral ties tied-together

Designs holding them still holding them

 

Umbilically related realtors, allowing one

Or other or both

Belatedly begotten, balking forth

For if one comes first

Which one? remains hidden

And unimportant

Even indistinguishable

Given present status apparatus

To press on

Pressing on other whispering reoccurrence

 

Through passing current, irreverent of longitudinal

Laditudinal placement within the quiet of the deep

Anna A understands Ben B as externally agreed names, left name

      fully fielded point AABB should

As it shrieks steadily rippling from stolid surfaces

Internalized to such inherent depths dug quietly

 

From silence like woody vigilance, comprehension

Stands up Anna

Unstates violently

From within and Ben

If it had have been

Unnoticeably begins

Beneath bordered blight

Boxing subtle notice

But proceeds bit

By beginning bits with imperceptible quivering sighs

Query weary to cued bobs: If proportion were set right

We would need not reverberation through sets of might

Like so many wanly marching plights through two sets of drums

Where willingly fractioned set anvils: kites

Less dense would need not echo through windy canals

For far foreign wedged quarries lure drawn-out flights

 

From heights shrill and found ground pounding, pounding

 

Hiccupped crescendos

Bobbing up and down

Would suspend those

Accumulated points as twenty-one centuries neoterically force-flood

Renascent bait through glass cylinders—

Its moiled discharge spun unabated, unbugbeared from onliest spots undone:

 

Arctic fruits from pottery wheels clay makes XYXX.