A glacier, then this.
A mangled mind is nothing
compared to the ice-graze on this rock.
All the people who ever stood on it,
even the ones who threw themselves off,
all the scars that they humped to get on top
are nothing compared to ice-melt.

Some of us worry about ice melting,
about what it means. Here, they say
if the ice didn’t melt, there’d still be something
to throw ourselves off, something to marvel at.
‘At least that’s something,’ they say, not knowing
how else to respond to a mind so mangled
it would take a falling glacier
to finally scrape it clean.

– Emma Croker