Eating the Glacier

The guide chips off a piece

to taste. The water in me

is the body of the glacier.

When I breathe with my lungs,

I breathe with the glacier's

lungs. Breathing—though made

from all our kind's rough materials

(marrow and membrane, fluid

and flesh)—I am fathomless.

I gaze at the ice, thirsty for its light,

and the ice turns its back

on my looking.