At the end of another day

the Antarctic fields tell no story

 

the researchers move slowly

conserving heat in the blistering cold

 

with their late flaring mirages of haloed breath

as the air peels away.

 

      The ice maiden has wandered

      far from her glassy hide

      leaving an impression behind

      where a freezing moon scythe

      divides the tide.

 

Lights are on in the station

pooling in the hesitant dark.

 

      Her watery eye looks in at the men

      as they raise their glasses

      sees their Christmas

      far from home

      sees the reddening stove

      warming its hands

      on the cabin

      sees the greetings

      as they serve their time.

      Her icy stare moves a sharded heart

      that knows not their secrets,

      their fears,  hopes,  trusts.

 

Finally the sun raises a fresh wind

whispers her name.

 

She must go back

back from whence she came.