Gray and fog-draped the island
loomed legendary in firelight
a gathering against death and cold a village
we were forbidden to return to
by elders who had grown ashamed
of their old lives their dances
the language they’d spoken before
the planet’s thin garment
of civilization
enticed them to stand up
in the liminal in the dreamlight
and build a flimsy shack
of reason a raft of the sensible
and they stopped seeing
cormorants skimming the waves
gaunt herons in the tideflash
barnacled whales lunging
gape-mouthed at herring and krill
stopped eating the foods
they’d broken apart with their hands
and pressed to their faces
smearing their cheeks like
children happy in the grease
and swale of it happy
in the spume of things
in the litter of shells the wrack
and pulse of oblivion
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