Danger

Gloves dusted with snow,
dry in a pristine freeze;
hard and tight-knit crystals
frill a beard and facet eyebrows.
Miles away an animal halts
and zeroes the wind, noses
air that fails to pierce his hide
though made of razor edges.

Boat jammed among bergs
means downtime, deadlock;
eyes, those famished maws,
study and feed as they flick.
A fresh red current slides
clean along the tundra,
pushing the great white fisher
like thirst, or thunder.