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Glaciers

Glaciers are shrinking,
and I am alive.
Supposedly building,
Truly deteriorating.

What is it that binds me
to the melting ice?
Why do I care?
Whether the ice grows
or shrinks?

It must be the water.
Maybe the trees?
Maybe the people?
Maybe the dying polar bear?

I sit and watch,
as we inflate,
in such infinite balloons.
The tensile strength
weakens, As we expand.

Where may we be?
Once we fill the balloon,
and the life flushes
from protruding recognition.

Maybe we will
be afraid.
Maybe the ice will melt
and we will drown.

I believe that we will all
freeze, at least for a moment,
and watch as the ebb
responds to the flow.

And the
inexplicable
will be
understood.

by Stephen Rosemire

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