Seals and polar bears swimming.
Pens of explorers lost.
Many digital articles on Eskimos
transcribed from pen works, but
not much left from
writings in the snow.
Ambiguity must be earned, for
never would one know
there’s no flower in the snow.
Returning to the laughing igloo
he brings home the food and fur
of a work without a pen
Spear and club are shrug-ugly
piercing the seal in blood
opening the seals of soul, a muddy
ambiguity of his spirit to live
to eat, and return to the igloo,
though now his child has a computer.
The blessed child is the after-laugh.
Oh such a giggle rainbow, colors that grow
in many modal drawings of love,
in crayons, in finger paints, in ink, in
the paint of explosive jello
and the wiggle of love with cosmic pen
writing in the streak of laughing stars.
Many articles about stars, ice,
the noble hunt, and he, the warrior
may someday look for
his pen in the snow, when
he began to take notes for a researcher.
His child doesn’t need
a pen or spear anymore
nor a need to ever return to the igloo.