by J.R. Solonche

Alaska is melting.
The ice is disappearing.
The thick ice is disappearing.
The impossibly thick ice of the glaciers.
The ice that has been in the valleys so long,
it may as well be permanent, like the stones it leaves behind.

So they come with their cameras.
They come to take the pictures before it goes.
The last of the ice.

If they could shoot it, they would.
If they could stuff it, they would.
If they could mount it on the wall, they would.

The landscape.
The state.

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