Soon the Weeds Will Be Blooming

The fire has gone out again

              the small stove hard to catch
              the slender limbs too quick.

I missed the lights again last night—the skies
need always watching
                                          & the smoke:

I am tired of feeling this world
on fire.

I haven’t checked the news in days,
less made these bodies.

& if this world’s still ending this corner
will be the last one standing.

I think it must be the wolves are far from here:: Kaganat yaksigtut maaken & cillqat antaartut uksuarmi
                                                        —in meadows forests hillsides anywhere
                                                        the ground has been disturbed.

Here the river won’t dry.
Here the glacier won’t
recede.

Here the weed is a flower
scarring over
                            —it comes out in the fall,

& the ice has always known blue
is a color
              with or without our hands

to pick.

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