In the heat of the sun of the words
Infinitely deep traces
That once would dry up all flesh
So an ice bear was digging through
Traces of skin to find words
Scenting.

The ice bear smacked while scrunching
The traces of the heat and the sun;
The taste of the traces was akin to its
Earlier life as an hyena's child in the
Jungle of a ruined country.

The ice bear was sighing, his head lifted
To the polar light, emerging from the
Shining of black space —
Traces from colorful, dry fog.

At once the ice bear fell asleep
In the traces of light and memories.