On the bay,
upon a forgotten summer's bay,
carved into the snow and ice
is a door ...
... that leads you down a corridor and opens into a large hall, filled with light and children and chatty parents in line with squeaky styrofoam cups of hot chocolate (cold pocket change exchanging mittens), with diner sets carved from blue blocks of winter lake, and old tables heaped with woollen gloves and jewelery made of bone and antler, alongside a wide platform for singing and dancing beneath northern lights greening, a joyful ode to the arctic life we choose.
But as for me ...
... I am in corners and nooks that want me more.
Muffled light and muted voices,
one thousand boot prints braiding beneath my feet,
a mix of alone and together
is my own music.