Four 5

  
Inuit see clearly

the aput

And the slow suffocation

accompanying it

if the wind could pierce it

you could breathe

the icy air

far away from

the bloody brush strokes

glistening upon the pack ice

left by the nattiq

dragged from their aglu

by the ever hungry 

ever silent 

ever searching Pihoqahiak.
© Erik Hansen 2016

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Filed under Creative Writing, Edges, Poetry, Writing

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