To weld the snow plough's cracked suspension,
metal bolts glowed bright as ice and fire.
In the station, tensions mapped by polar stars,
charting shards that slowly floated by,
scrutinised under narrowing pale blue eyes.
Standing on the hilltop overlooking Iqaluit,
heard cackle of ravens echo on the roof tops.
Fog hung over Frobisher Bay,
ghostly footprints, moved towards
each dogs that strayed.
A hunter hammered his snow mobile
towards town, while white seals slid
on frosted grass,along the trail blown out
near Lancaster Sound.
In the wood house tea mashed over
a Coleman Stove.Howling wolves licked
their wounds,and dreamed of home.
A sledge dog sprawled, panting beneath
harness and lash,one eye lost to a ricochet
from a rifle shot,fired to part frozen shackles
on an ice burned eel cache.
Rifle, bone knife, strewn by the custom houses,
light harpoon tip buried deep in the pocket
of fur trousers. Central knot secured the fan
hitch to the leases of the sleigh,
air perfumed by scent of Arctic poppies,
sassafras, Lapland rose bay.
Briefly tundra spread outside the forest's edge,
steam from a dog team clouded into spray.
Half eaten fish, dried seal meat,
strewn across a broken T.V. satellite dish
Observed through mist, the encounter
between an edgy hunter and the polar bear
blew up with the unexpected violence
of a spring blizzard.