Coming out on solid ground after the Ice Age.(poem)

Now we hear the tamarack fall while gusts whip frozen dust up in the break. In front of us, where icy water trickles from the glacier, our gaze spreads coldly over all the rubble and tries to colonize the barrens of our state.

Our state? A place extending well beyond the frozen northlands, Bering Straits, terrain which curls below the great depressions to junk out stone, cinder and mud in a terminal sort of ground.

Our state cares less …