Antarctic Rescue

diary of a randomly selected man

I awoke to Trumping thunder not above
But beneath my body through the ice.
Thicker than a mile, the whole shelf moved.
Across the lit up field a crack
Quickly spread into a chasm
Filled with birds of bottomless black.
We are alone, no way across
And slipping towards the sea,
Twittering winds slice into waves that toss
Each other higher on the ocean.
Can we be rescued from the floe
By some unknown force or motion?
Some sudden push backs up the sliding sheet,
The ringing echo of 10 million marching feet.

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