We settled in a Ring.
Sun below the Dawn.
Ice behind, fire before.
Domes where we farm.

They knew our highwire
Sways in solar wind:
So doom from any trend.

Springfall wilts and slinks
Into the night ice
of the world's blackside
like deer into thickets
before the sniffing gun--

Christian, Buddhist hell on one side
Norse hell on the other!

Oh but you know
Paradise is just
Well balanced hells.

The railroad line saw dawn.
Rails wake, stretch and yawn.
We spike a web of malforged iron
Feverish, death-pushed, in icier canyons
Soon to be mudholes, then Death Valleys.

Don't tinker with the Sun:
This was my dream.

I guess I must tell her
who wants to warm my world:
"My balance, tight ring,
will die of love.
I cannot migrate fast."

Yet she was and is
so warm, so warm.
Face burning, I'll have to tell her,
And march on, into ice.