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Alaska (Robin William’s Blues)

 

Something about the white, the blue,

Dissonance emptying out

Diffuse, through the skyline.

 

The slow drift crawl brought back gifts;

Rose flakes of redacted unity,

Silvering shards of doubt,

To cleave the rimed possibility,

Minding room for the gap.

 

All voices became stilled

But the clear stalac drip,

Carving, whittling, transforming,

Glacial in its patience,

Polar in its insistence,

Winding casually round

The idle proposition:

Why not?

 

Cobalt blue resolution

Thawed to a Iago white clarity,

Sticky mother’s milk whispers

Completed the black coagulate;

Crystalline the only reply

You ever wanted to near:

It will be alright.

 

You were always the light in the fridge

Clicked on by its gentle release,

And as the door yawned

Its soft murmuring chasm,

The downy blanket of closure

Cushioned over your face.