The Snow Bunting

I go out like the contents of a glass
into water, into wind.
Diluting, freezing, becoming vapor.
No, I do not go out like this, but in wool and synthetics,
worm -spun-silk, cotton stuffed with eider down.
My feet are in socks
then socks again.
I push them into smoothly smudged rubber boots.
Warm, old, arctic boots ,once white, now have the look of a news paper, worn.
What happened to the small bunting flown so far off his course?
Flying over, then dipping his body low enough to chirp.
He belongs in the turning of the willows near where the sled dogs live,
rattling on towards the fjord.
Not here, up on the void-less ice cap going out, like the contents of a glass.
Into water, into wind, into snow..............


Sometimes birds are blown off of their course or loose their migratory way. Though small flocks of geese have been seen, arctic sand pipers and snow buntings are more common. They appear in the air low and flitting, an obvious anomaly to the summit of the Ice cap where nothing has ever lived or would ever choose to live, except for a few strange people bundled in clothes melting snow for water.
The other day one such snow bunting graced us with his tiny presence. We always put out a bowl of hot water, which will last a few hours in its liquid state. Sometimes the birds take shelter in the lees then fly away. other times they die here and their frozen bodies are placed in special perching places safe from any further harm until they are completely buried in the accumulating or drifting snows.
This little one simply disappeared. We all like to hope that he made it back home to the sea's more temperate shore.