we stand in huddled masses
hunkered against the driving snows
dreaming ourselves sheltered

but in actuality waiting
with dumbfounded appetency
for the poleax

ineluctable slaughter
a slow march toward relief
away from this frozen bastion

ululating into the indifferent sky
their ears deaf to our hearts’ beating
the clouds encroach with malice

they've stacked our bones high
as kindling into towering bulwarks
all in the name of progress

and these shorn, trampled forests
have become a nidus of their iniquity
somehow all of this became accepted

abiding of this prefatory miasma
dim views of birds falling
and gray ash, susurrous

floating through the whipping grasses
all the beasts lying down
their tongues lolling

they have terminably broken its back