WEBVTT

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And I'm obviously going to have
to read in chronological order

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having started back that far.

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I want to read a poem called
The Iceberg, which is some years

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later, it is not it's air.

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But our own or that freezes us.

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Hardest of all to believe that
so fearsome a destroyer can

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be dead with those lights
moving in it with the sea

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all around it charged
with its influence.

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It seems that only
now, we realize

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the depth of the waters,
the abyss over which we

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float among such clouds.

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And still not
understanding the coldness

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of most elegance even with so
vast and heartless splendor

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before us stare.

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Caught in the magnetism
of great silence thinking,

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this is the terror
that cannot be charted.

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This is only a little of it.

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And recall how many
Mariners watching the sunset

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have seen these
peaks on the horizon

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and made sail through
the darkness for islands.

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That no map had promised.

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Floating blessed in the Westies.

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These must dissolve before they
can again grow apple trees.

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